God's Blood
by livin-la-vida-loki-d
Summary: AU before Being Human, after season 2 of TAJ: Anders stumbles home drunk one night and sees something that will forever change his life, though for better or worse he won't know until it's too late.
1. Chapter 1

******Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of their creators, nor am I seeking to make a profit from this.**

******Please note that this story takes place before the events in Being Human, and after the events of The Almighty Johnsons up through season 2. I started this story before season 3 aired, so any similarities are (for the most part) purely coincidental. **

* * *

Chapter 1

Anders stumbled down the sidewalk, too drunk to stand straight; the only thing that kept him from falling was his hand along the buildings. He nearly fell over, however, when one building ended and an alley separated him from the next building. He kept walking, not really noticing that he had turned and was now walking down the alley. He didn't register the dead end, nor all the trash that lined the ground. He didn't register the sounds coming from the back corner of the alleyway either – at least not until he got a little closer. Finally a noise broke through the thick fog of his drunken thoughts, and it sounded like a moan. Anders perked up, that sort of sound not something new to him at all. He squinted, trying to see through the darkness and eventually saw two figures writhing together. One was a man, tall with thick curly black hair – Anders couldn't see his face, but he could see the face of the woman he was with. She had a look of ecstasy on her face – or was it pain? Anders couldn't tell.

Suddenly the woman's moans turned into screams, and the man's hand quickly came up to cover her mouth. His face was still buried in the crook of her neck, and Anders couldn't understand in his drunken state that he should probably do something. Instead he could only stand there, supporting himself on the wall of the alleyway as the woman struggled, violently at first, but after a few moments they turned into weak struggles until she finally stopped moving. Anders' eyes widened when he realized that she was dead, and he took a clumsy step back, knocking into a trash bin. The man, who had dropped the woman and stood up straight as he wiped his mouth of some dark liquid suddenly turned and looked at Anders. Anders couldn't see properly in the dark of the night but he could see that the man's eyes were completely black. He reeled backwards, and nearly fell over as he scrambled to run away. He felt the primal fear for his life jolt through him and his fight or flight instinct kicked in and he fled.

Anders stumbled out of the alleyway and continued back to his apartment. It was nearly two am, and there were only a few other people on the road with him. Anders knew his way to and from his favorite bar – Pete's Pub – so well that his feet let him home of their own accord in the darkness of the early morning. When he finally reached his apartment, he fumbled with his keys, dropping them twice as the fear started to leave his body as he got closer and closer to the safety of his own bed.

He didn't even bother undressing before he fell into bed, and as his eyes closed he forgot the man and the woman and the reason he had rushed home.

* * *

_Anders ran, stumbling every now and then over unknown obstacles or his own feet. He heaved, and every breath was harder and harder than the last. It felt like his lungs were full of water. Suddenly he was drowning, he couldn't breathe, and he looked back to see that the black eyed man was still following him._

_Anders turned back around and ran faster, his breaths becoming shorter and shorter until he became light headed and fell. He pushed himself to his back and scrambled backward. The man stared straight at him as he advanced. Anders still couldn't see details of his face – only his black eyes full of anger and bloodlust. Anders pushed himself back to his knees and crawled, pulling himself hand over hand as fast as he could. He glanced back and the man was closer. Anders let out an anguished groan as his strength began to fail. _

_Suddenly he felt something grab his ankle and he turned as the black eyed man lunged and – _

* * *

Anders jolted upright. He was breathing heavily and it took him a moment to remember where he was. He looked to his left to the clock – six am.

_Same fucking nightmare for two weeks now. . ._ He threw his blankets off, immediately starting to shiver in the cold November air, and got up to start another early Friday. He turned of his seven am alarm and got dressed. He went out to the kitchen and got the coffee started before he turned on the news. The morning show was just starting and Anders only half paid attention.

"Diane Porter still has not been found this morning, marking it the fourteenth day she has been missing. She was last seen at the club "Midnight" in downtown Bristol two weeks ago. Once again she is five feet five inches tall, with dark brown hair and brown eyes, if you have any information please call the number on your screen." Anders perked up. He hadn't heard that story before, but he didn't usually watch the news.

He looked at his phone, debating for a moment. Then he shook his head. _I don't even know if that's the same girl. Plus, what would I tell them? I saw a man with pitch black eyes kill her? Yeah, that'd go over well._ Anders turned off the news and went to finish getting ready for work.

That night Anders sat at a small booth towards the back of Pete's. His usual waitress came by as soon as he sat down with his usual.

"Thanks Angie," he said, giving her his best smile and a wink. She smiled and giggled as she always did.

"Let me know if I can get you anything else!"

"I always do." She left and Anders sipped his beer. He looked around the pub. It was a little more packed than usual, but Anders didn't really care – as long as no one bothered him, unless he wanted them to, that is.

He looked into the crowd, at the men and women having a good time together, drinking, some were dancing or playing pool off to the side. He smirked when he saw a woman suddenly start to gather her things and stand. She looked angry, and was saying something to the man she was with to quietly for Anders to hear. The man stood as well and responded equally angrily. He pulled out his wallet, threw some money on the table and stormed away, closely followed by the woman, who was still talking.

As she moved Anders' smile disappeared. The black eyed man sat at the bar, staring straight at him. Anders' heart stopped and a jolt of fear went through his core.

The man was staring at him intently, his eyes narrowed and his jaw set. He wore jeans and a leather jacket over a red t-shirt and his hair was slicked back. As Anders stared the man reached behind him on the bar and picked up his drink to take a long drink without taking his eyes off of Anders.

Anders's breath sped up – he had been hoping that what he saw outside the club that night had only been a part of his nightmare, something that his fucked up subconscious had cooked up to finally address the darkness that had been growing inside him since Helen's death.

A group of people leaving the bar obscured his view, and when they had passed the man was gone. Anders' heart faltered again and he frantically looked around the room. The man was nowhere, and Anders took a moment to calm down his breathing. He took several big gulps of his drink and was slightly dismayed when he realized it was gone. He stood slightly so he could see over the crowd, but he didn't see Angie anywhere. He left his empty glass on the table and went to the bar to get another, all the while keeping an eye out for the man.

He ordered a vodka coke, and with it in hand he returned to his table, still looking around the pub. A woman caught his eye, and she smiled at him. If he weren't so freaked out at the moment there wasn't anything that could have stopped Ander from going over and getting laid. He was a few feet from his table when he turned back to look ahead. He stopped, nearly spilling his drink, when he saw that his table was no longer unoccupied.

* * *

Mitchell smirked when the blond man saw him. It had taken two weeks to find him, but he finally did. This man witnessed his last kill, and it had taken everything he had not to go after him as soon as he had dropped the woman, sated on her blood, and saw him staring open-mouthed at him. But he needed to take care of the body, so he let the man go.

He finally spotted him that morning as he was returning to the house he lived in with Herrick and several other vampires – well, if you could call it living. It was more a place where he could go to fall, exhausted, into bed after a long night of cleaning up other vampires' messes; Mitchell really didn't like his job. He didn't even eat there very much – unlike some of the others, who brought their prey home with them. The place permanently smelled like death, and not even a vampire like Mitchell could take very much of that.

The man had been leaving his apartment when Mitchell spotted him. He watched him walk slowly down the road before stopping at a small café. Mitchell tailed him most of the day, and when he had gone straight to a pub after work Mitchell followed him in.

Now he sat at the man's table after he had gone to get another drink, waiting for him to return. The terror that flashed across the man's face when he turned around and saw him gave Mitchell a sick sense of satisfaction. He seemed to steel himself and took the two steps he still needed to take and sat down across from Mitchell. They regarded each other for a moment. Mitchell could hear the man's heart pounding and he saw his Adam's apple bob up and down as if he had just gulped.

"You're a hard man to find," Mitchell said, sitting back.

"I don't think I've met you," the man said, his voice the polar opposite of his face, which still looked uneasy.

"Don't be stupid, I saw you," Mitchell said, keeping his voice calm while his anger was flaring up inside. He wasn't worried, though. This man is small, and Mitchell had no doubt that he could snap him in two if it came to a fight. Mitchell was a second from standing and forcing the man outside to his death when started to talk.

"I don't know what you're talking about, and I think it would be best for everyone if you left me alone," he said, and Mitchell felt a strange feeling flood him. He _knew_ that this was the man he saw after he killed that woman, but a tiny shred of doubt crept into his mind. Maybe this wasn't the man. . . maybe Mitchell had been seeing things, high on blood. His mind was screaming at him to get out before he told this stranger too much.

But then the man's eyes went wide and he gulped, and Mitchell could hear his heart pounding and he could see perfectly how the man had looked that night, and how his heart had pounded and he knew.

Suddenly the feeling was gone and Mitchell's eyes narrowed. "What did you just do?" He leaned forward and looked closely at the man, and then he caught it. A subtle difference in scent. This man is not human.

"I did nothing," the man lied, confusion blossoming across his face. "I don't know what you're talking about, and you need to leave me alone."

That feeling crept over him again, and as Mitchell fought it the man got up from the table and left, walking quickly through the crowded pub and then out the door and out of Mitchell's sight.

_That was fucking weird. . ._ Mitchell thought. This man isn't human, and Mitchell wouldn't know if he was a vampire, and he certainly didn't smell like a werewolf. Mitchell couldn't even put his finger on the man's scent, except that it was different than human – it was richer and more vibrant. And then there's the issue of that thing he did when he spoke – and how he looked afraid and confused when it didn't work on him.

Mitchell was broken out of his when his phone started ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket and scowled when he saw it was Herrick. He flipped it open and put it to his ear.

"What?"

"Hello Mitchell, how are you tonight?"

"Never better. What do you want?"

"You sound stressed, what happened?" Herrick's voice was mock-interested, and it made Mitchell want to throw his phone against the wall.

"I don't have time for your bullshit, Herrick, what do you want?"

There was a pause, and when he spoke his voice was cold and more familiar. "There's a fairly new recruit who has more strikes on his record than you have fingers, and needs to be dealt with. He's in the pub you're in."

"How do you know where I am?" Mitchell asked, confusion and anger mingling in his gut – he hadn't seen Herrick in a few days, let alone told him where he was going to be.

"My dear Mitchell, I always know where you are." A chill went down Mitchell's spine and the confusion led and his anger flared. "His name is Duncan, and he's a tall ginger, you can't miss him." The line went silent and Mitchell snapped his phone shut and downed the rest of his drink. He took a moment to silently seethe over his anger before taking a deep breath and standing.

He immediately saw Duncan. He stood in a back corner of the pub with a young woman; he was easily six foot two and towered over the girl. He stared down at her with a predatory smile. Mitchell vaguely wondered what he had done, because they all kill people and Herrick doesn't order a vampire killed for any small reason. Mitchell started towards him, deciding he didn't really care.

"Hey Duncan," he said when he reached the red haired vampire. Duncan turned and looked down to Mitchell, confusion written across his face. Mitchell grabbed his arm and his eyes went black. Realization dawned and Duncan turned to the girl to excuse himself. She was staring at Mitchell, however, so he gave her a charming smile. "I'll have him right back to you," he said as he pulled Duncan away.

"What's this all about?" Duncan asked angrily.

"I just need to have a quick word with you outside, courtesy of Herrick." He didn't look back, and so he missed the fear flash in Duncan's eyes. Mitchell led him out of the pub and around the side. Once they were there Duncan said, "Okay, what does Herrick want? I told him I didn't ki-"

But he didn't get to finish, because Mitchell turned around, pulled out the stake he carried in his inside pocket and thrust it into Duncan's chest. He let out a strangled cry and crumbled into dust. Mitchell smirked, and blew off the bit of ash still on the stake and returned it to his pocket. He felt nothing, not remorse for a dead fellow vampire, nor happiness in the kill. _I'm going numb_. . .

He exited the alleyway. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit one up. He leaned against the brick wall of the pub and took a long drag, letting the smoke drift out of his open mouth. It wasn't late, only about eleven, and there were many people out and about, but no one paid him any attention. He didn't want to go back into the pub – he was still confused and irate over the blond man and his strange non-humanity – but he also didn't want to go back home yet and deal with Herrick or other vampires.

So he did was he found himself doing a lot those days. He pushed himself off the wall and turned to start down the sidewalk; no real destination in mind, just the desire to occupy his mind and body.

* * *

Anders sat on his couch, an unopened beer in one hand, the other clenched in a fist next to him. He had rushed home from the pub and locked his door and collapsed against it as he tried to return his breathing to normal. He stayed there for a few minutes, trying to forget the way the man had been able to shake off his power like it had been nothing, which really wasn't too surprising, extremely strong willed people weren't always susceptible to his power, but they never knew he was using it. The look of confusion on the man's face mirrored the feeling that shot through Anders. So when he realized it wouldn't work he had thrown everything he had into it and fled while the man tried to push it off.

Now he sat with his unopened beer, trying to fight off the fear he still felt coursing through him. He took a deep breath and looked down to eye the beer. _I forgot to open it. . ._ he thought miserably. He stood and walked to the kitchen.

As he popped the cap his phone started ringing. A jolt went through him as he irrationally thought it was the man. He knew it couldn't be, and told himself to stop being paranoid. He walked back into the living room and picked up his vibrating phone. He looked down to the flashing screen and frowned. He hadn't put it in when he got his English phone, but he recognized Axl's number.

He sat back down and held the phone in his lap, contemplating whether or not to answer it. He hadn't spoken to any of his family in months, since he moved to England. He frowned again, and made up his mind. He hit accept.

"What do you want Axl?" he said none too kindly. There was a pause on the other end.

"Hey Anders," Axl sounded surprised, and a little relieved. "How are you?"

"Never better. What do you want?"

"I guess I just wanted to see how my big brother was doing – I haven't seen you in six months."

"That's because the last time I saw you, you were in the process of beating the shit out of me," Anders snapped.

"Anders-" but Anders didn't hear the rest, he jammed his thumb onto the end call button and threw his phone to the other end of the couch. He took a few deep breaths as the anger that drove him to leave New Zealand came rushing back. Before he could stop himself he surged to the side and grabbed his phone again. He dialed another familiar number.

"The prodigal grandson has made contact!" Olaf answered, sounding just as drunk – or high – as usual. "What can I do for you?"

"Why did you give Axl my number? I only gave it to you for emergencies," Anders said, irritated with his grandfather.

"He asked for it, and he looked so sad."

"I don't care if he's sad! He hospitalized me, good on him for feeling bad about it." Anders didn't realize that he had been yelling until the apartment was suddenly very quiet.

"Well you did sleep with his girlfriend."

"No, I did not. Bragi slept with Idunn, I had no interest in that girl!"

"I didn't blame you then and I don't blame you now Anders. He wanted to apologize – because he doesn't blame you either," Olaf said calmly.

"Bullshit." Anders hung up the phone. He pocketed it and headed for the cabinet in his kitchen that held his alcohol.

* * *

Two days later Anders woke up with a headache. He had gotten extremely drunk Friday night and stayed that way through Saturday. It seemed to Anders that he couldn't even think about his brothers without the absolute need to get hammered.

Sunday came, however, and the logical part deep inside him convinced him to get sober for work the next day. He found that not working for himself, like he did in New Zealand, made it harder to slack, and forced him to actually go to work and _try_. Not something he'd had to do for a while.

Leaving his company behind – and giving it over to Dawn – had actually been difficult when he thought about it weeks alter. He had been in such a hurry to just _get out_ that he hadn't really thought about it. It was in good hands with Dawn, though.

Anders got up, dressed, and took a bit more than the recommended dosage of paracetamol. He grabbed an apple and keys and left his small apartment. He found that on days like this, when he couldn't stop thinking, he just had to get away from himself.

He walked down the sidewalk, gloved hands stuffed deep into his pockets with his scarf tight around his neck to ward off the cold of November – especially at nine am. He walked for another half hour or so before he came across a park. There were a few people milling about, but for the most part it was quiet.

He turned onto one of the many pathways leading into the small park and spotted a bench he liked. He sat down on one end and bit into his apple, enjoying how quiet and cold it was that morning.

A group of small children entered the park at a run and started playing a game that involved screaming for a reason Anders couldn't fathom. He shook his head and turned away from them. He noticed someone sit down next to him, but didn't pay them any mind. He set the apple core on the bench next to him and crossed his arms over his chest.

"It's only going to get colder, unfortunately," the person next to him said in a now all too familiar voice. Anders froze. In being forced to deal with his brother once again Anders had all but forgotten about the man from the alleyway and the pub. His instincts were screaming at him to get up and run, but the man simply sat there, legs crossed at the ankle and arms spread over the back of the long bench.

Anders took a deep, steadying breath and said, "Are you following me?" The man didn't answer at first; he was staring at the group of kids.

"I'm still trying to figure out why I didn't kill you," he said finally, his voice almost weary, like this question had been bothering him since Friday and he was just tired of it.

"Because you're a good person?" Anders hazarded a guess, hoping he didn't just sign his own death certificate.

The man just frowned. "I try to be."

Anders had no idea what to make of this whole situation. Obviously this guy wasn't too hell bent on killing him, or he would have done it already – but at the same time he couldn't get the image of the woman in the alleyway falling limp on the ground as he dropped her. If he was going to keep running into this guy he needed to get on his good side. "I'm Anders," he said softly, holding out his hand and trying not to let it shake. The man grasped his hand and looked into his eyes. Anders noticed for the first time, in the light of day, that his eyes were brown, not black.

"Mitchell," he replied.

"It's nice to properly meet you Mitchell," Anders said as he took his hand back and leaned back against the bench. Mitchell didn't respond, just nodded slightly. "So, are you from here, your accent is different than most I've heard here." He felt nervous around the man, and really couldn't stop himself from talking.

"No, originally I'm from Ireland," Mitchell said, looking over at Anders. "But I've been all over. You're definitely not from around here though – Australia?"

"Fuck no, I'm from New Zealand."

"I've always wanted to go there," Mitchell said wistfully.

"Maybe someday you will," Anders replied, giving him a smile.

"Why'd you leave? If you don't mind me asking, of course." Anders looked away, irritation suddenly coursing through him. He frowned.

"I had some family issues. Wanted to get away."

"But why _Bristol_?"

"My grandpa said there was some good pussy here when he lived here, so I thought why not?" Mitchell burst into laughter, and Anders quickly joined in. "Well, why did you choose Bristol?"

Mitchell stopped laughing and frowned slightly. "Work, " he grimaced.

"What do you do?" Anders asked, but before Mitchell could answer his phone started ringing.

"Sorry," he said as he answered it. "What? Now? No, yeah, fine, I'll be there." He hung up as violently as he could, and Anders felt a spike of fear go trough him at the dark look in Mitchell's eyes as he stood. "Speaking of work, I've got to go. See you around," he said, sounding like he distinctly did not want to see him; and Anders had a feeling it had to do with whatever work was.

"Yeah, later," he gave an awkward half-wave, but Mitchell was already gone. _Well, that was sufficiently terrifying_, Anders thought and he stood and returned home to get drunk. Not as hammered as usual, but drunk enough to answer the phone at nine that night when it rang and Ty's number was flashing on the screen.

"Hello baby brother," he boomed into the mouthpiece when he answered.

"Anders, hi! I'm glad you answered."

"Well why not, when it seems like we're having a cellular Johnson family reunion, even though I moved away and didn't give you my new number."

"Anders, I get that you're still mad at Axl-"

"You're damn right I am! You all know I have no bloody control over that stupid godly bond that Bragi and Idunn have!" Anders was yelling again, but he couldn't care less. "And you just let him try to kill me!"

"Anders I'm sorry. We didn't know it was that bad, but that's not excuse. Mike should have pulled him off of you earlier."

Anders didn't answer for a few minutes. He stopped pacing around his living room and collapsed onto the couch. He kept reliving that moment, when Axl found out that Anders – no, Bragi – had slept with Idunn, and was the reason Gaia had completely cast him aside, and had nearly lost his mind in anger and jealousy. Anders closed his eyes when he remembered their confrontation in Mike's bar, and how Axl had punched him in the face, broken his nose, and then proceeded to beat the shit out f him. None of their brothers, Olaf, or the goddesses had even tried to stop him until they realized that Anders was unconscious and Axl wasn't going to stop. The next thing Anders remembered was waking up in the emergency room with several broken bones and a touch of internal bleeding.

"Why did you call Ty?"

"I wanted to tell you that Dawn and I are getting married, next summer." Anders smiled wanly at the happiness in Ty's voice. _It's about time_, he thought.

"Congratulations." He tried to sound enthusiastic, but couldn't quite manage it. "So she remembered?"

"No, unfortunately she didn't," Ty said sadly. "But I got her to love me again." Anders could almost hear the smile in his voice.

"I guess it helps that you can fuck her without killing her now." Anders had moved to the kitchen while Ty talked and was in the process of pouring himself another vodka. "Cheers," he said, forgetting Ty couldn't see him, and he toasted the air and threw it back. Ty didn't respond to his crass statement.

"How often are you drunk these days, Anders?" Ty asked after a few moments of silence. Anders' brow furrowed as he tried to remember.

"Since Friday," he slurred.

"So a lot, then?"

"Mmhmm."

"Are. . . are you okay?"

"I'm perfect. I even made a new friend today – I think. I don't think he wants to kill me anymore."

"Anders are you going to come home?" Ty asked after a moment. Anders frowned into his empty glass.

"Why would I come back? No one there likes me."

"Anders that's not true! I do. Dawn does, despite herself." Anders leaned against the counter, fiddling with the glass. He accidentally knocked it over. "Are you okay?" Ty asked again, his voice quiet.

"I'm not coming home, Ty," Anders said. "I've got to go, tell Dawn I say hi and congratulations." He hung up the phone and stumbled to his bed, collapsing into a miserable heap on top of the blankets, not bothering to undress.

* * *

**A/n: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! I've been working on this story for about four months now and it's the longest story I've written and the one I'm most proud of - so please give it a chance! Let me know in a review or a PM if you liked it, and what you liked and didn't. I'm not sure how many chapters there are in this story, but it is entirely written and complete. I plan on uploading a chapter a week, so I'll see y'all next Sunday!**


	2. Chapter 2

******Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of their creators, nor am I seeking to make a profit from this.**

**Note: I know I said Sunday but I'm impatient and I had this chapter ready so here y'all go, please enjoy. Sorry it's so short. **

* * *

Chapter 2

That week went by slowly for Mitchell. Herrick kept him busy, but it still dragged – time never passed quickly when one was forced to do something they didn't want to do. He spent every night that week policing new vampires, and cleaning up after their inevitable messes. He thought about Anders a lot, despite himself. The flame that fueled Mitchell's desire to kill him after Anders saw him that night was gone, and he was simply intrigued by the man. Not to mention the curiosity roiling in his gut of just _what _he is. Mitchell decided that the next time he saw Anders he would be nice, and try to make friends. If nothing else, he may find in Anders a drinking buddy.

Saturday night came and Mitchell hadn't fed in a few days – too busy making sure new recruits did it properly. He found himself deep in a dark alleyway, just as he had been that night he first saw Anders, with a young and extremely inebriated man under his fangs.

He drained him dry, pulling back and sighing with satisfaction as he dropped the boy on the ground, entirely unceremoniously. He didn't even know the boy's name, he just met him as the boy was leaving a pub and in his extreme drunkenness it had been very easy for Mitchell to lead him away and into the alley way for what he thought was going to be a quickie in the open air.

Well, it was quick. For Mitchell anyway. He pulled out his phone and sent a text to the head of the cleanup crew that week to tell them where the body is, and he leaves the alley.

He feels good – the rush from the recent feed fueling his mood, and he feels like doing something. He thinks for a second, trying to remember where exactly he is, and hears music coming from a few blocks away. He is drawn to it, and without thinking he starts toward it.

He blends in with the other people on the sidewalk, most also walking toward the club. It's a Saturday night at eleven o'clock; everyone's just getting started.

He gets into the quick moving line to enter the club, and smirks as the two older women in front of him are turned away. He smiles at the bouncer and nods his head in shallow thanks as he is waved inside. _It pays to be forever twenty-four,_ he thinks as he dives head first into the crowded club.

As he looks around he notices a few vampires here and there, and he snorts and shakes his head slightly when two of them wave. Two of the newer vampires Herrick put him in charge with, Tanya and Erica had gotten it into their heads that Mitchell was the love of their lives, and that they would make him theirs. Mitchell hoped that they would decide they didn't want to share and kill each other. Either way there was no way he would give them anything.

He ducks to the side of the crowd to avoid them and heads to the bar. He wedges himself between a man and a woman at the bar – not giving a shit if they had been talking or not – and gets the bartender's attention. The man approaches and Mitchell gives him a charming smile.

"What can I get you, my friend?"

"A pint of Guinness," he says, and the bartender nods and smiles and goes to get his drink.

He drinks four in fairly quick succession, chatting with the bartender and the woman beside him; the man on his other side had gotten irritated of Mitchell's cock block very quickly and had gone.

He started on his fourth pint as he spots him on the other side of the club. The woman's comment goes in one ear and out the other, and Mitchell gets up and walks toward Anders, ignoring the woman's cry of, "what the fuck, where are you going?"

He puts his drink down on Anders' table and sits down across from him. He smiles at Anders' raised eyebrow.

"You again," Anders says before he takes a drink of his – Mitchell guesses – vodka. Mitchell chuckles, and suddenly starts to feel the four and a half beers he's had. The warmth in his stomach spreading out in a pleasant light buzz.

"It appears that you and I are just destined to keep running into each other." He drains the rest of his pint and all but slams the glass down in his enthusiasm.

"How many of those have you had?" Anders asks, amused.

"That was my fifth. You?" He gestures to the almost empty glass in his hand.

"Three. I'd better catch up!" He downs the rest of his own drink. Mitchell can tell by the slight flush of his cheeks in the pulsing light of the club and the fact that his accent was much thicker than when last they spoke that he's definitely not behind – he probably had something before he came out. If anything it's Mitchell who needs to catch up.

"So," he says, leaning forward on his elbows. "How's life treating you?"

"Like a bitch," he replies, chuckling as he too leans forward. "You?"

"Not bad, actually." He smiles when he realizes that it's actually kind of true. Sure, life as a vampire can never be perfect – but Mitchell likes to think he's doing fine. "Let's do shots and we can see if your day can get any better." Mitchell stands, and Anders looks skeptical at first, but finally shrugs.

"Why the hell not." Anders stands and together they make their way to the bar. Mitchell orders two vodka shots and doesn't quite register when the bartender smiles and winks at him when he sees Anders next to him.

"What shall we toast to?" Anders asks, holding up his shot. Mitchell follows suit and thinks for a second.

"To a new friend?"

"I can accept that." They toast and throw back their shots.

Three shots later they are both quite drunk – on top of everything they'd had before. Mitchell listens intently as Anders slurs through a story about a time he had sex with four women at once. Mitchell doesn't quite know if he believes him or not, but Anders seems quite convinced that it happened so he goes along with it.

A song with a really strong beat comes on and Mitchell gets the urge to dance. He tells Anders, who squints at him and shakes his head.

"I don't dance," he says.

"You do now!" Mitchell pulls him away from the bar and towards the dance floor. It's crowded and they are soon engulfed by the people who are already dancing.

He pulls Anders close and starts dancing – not even really knowing what he's doing. Anders joins in, and a few moments later they're both hot and sweating, breathing heavy, face-to-face. Mitchell stares into Anders' blue eyes and is nearly overcome with the urge to grab him by his bearded face and. . . not kill him. His eyes widen as he realizes that he has no urge whatsoever to drink Anders' blood. His breathing speeds up even more as he grabs Anders by his collar.

Anders, who is actually enjoying himself immensely, even if a tiny part of his extremely intoxicated mind knows he probably looks like a fool, doesn't even really notice when Mitchell starts to pull him away from the dance floor. Mitchell slams the men's room door open and practically throws Anders against the back wall. He takes Anders; face in one hand and a handful of his hair in the other before he crushes his mouth against Anders'.

It takes a moment for Anders to register what's happening but once he does he's kissing Mitchell back with equal force. They kiss for a while, wet, sloppy, drunken open-mouthed kisses as they clumsily paw at each other.

Mitchell moves down so that he's kissing and sucking on Anders' neck and he moans in amazement when he still feels no urge to tear his throat out. His entire body is practically vibrating with excitement because he hasn't been able to have sex with a human – or whatever Anders is – without killing them in a long time.

He reaches down and grabs Anders' crotch, groaning together with him as Anders' hands clenched tighter in Mitchell's hair.

"Mitchell," Anders says, and a jolt goes down Mitchell's spine and he sucks harder on Ander's neck. "I live close by," he pulls Mitchell away from his neck and roughly back to his mouth. Anders bites his bottom lip and Mitchell moans and pulls away before he rips Anders' button-up shirt open. He nods, and lets Anders pull him out of the bathroom and through the club.

They are so consumed with their purpose that they are able to walk fast without stumbling too much. When they finally reach Anders' apartment Mitchell goes back to kissing his neck from behind while Anders fumbles with his keys.

"Get off," Anders pushes him away and finally gets the key in and unlocks the door. He walks in, expecting Mitchell to follow. When he tries he's stopped before he can enter the apartment. A tiny part of his mind that remembers tells him that he cannot enter someone's home unless invited, and he laughs. Anders turns around, an irritated look on his face. "What the fuck?"

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he slurs, a smile on his face.

"Get your ass in here."

"Good enough." Mitchell darts in and around Anders and slams him against the closed door.

They kiss again, frantic and groping. Anders unzips Mitchell's jacket and Mitchell tugs Anders' own off. They part for a moment to pull both of their shirts off and Anders takes him by the belt and pulls him to the bedroom.

It's a short walk and Mitchell lets himself be pushed back onto the bed and groans when Anders climbs on top of him, going straight for his mouth with his own while his hand goes down to squeeze his crotch Mitchell rolls them over and lets go of the remains of his control. He unbuckles Anders' belt and pulls his pants off, all the while showering Anders' face and neck with kisses, and when the urge comes to bite it's only to nip. Anders' hands go to Mitchell's pants as he moans and grinds his crotch against Mitchell's. They're both hard and Anders is eager to get this show on the road. After some fumbling and awkward shifting, they're both naked and reduced to writhing against each other, moaning loudly at the feel of cock on cock. As they get closer to their climax they move faster and wilder, pawing and scratching at each other, no longer kissing so much as moaning into each other's mouths. They finish together, clawing each other's backs. Anders bites Mitchell's lip and it only makes Mitchell moan louder and rake his nails down Anders' back. He smells the blood he's drawn, but it doesn't fully register.

He collapses on top of Anders, breathing heavily. Anders pushes at him and he rolls to the side. "That was great," Anders says, already half asleep. Mitchell smiles, unable to remember the last time he had sex that didn't end in a bloody mess. He hums in agreement and closes his eyes. They fall asleep next to each other, neither one especially for cuddling after sex.

* * *

When Anders woke the next morning he was alone. He looked at the clock, saw that it was ten and groaned. His back ached, and he started to register how sore his body was as he remembered exactly what happened the previous night.

He certainly hadn't expected to see Mitchell at that club, and while getting very drunk and ending up in bed with someone wasn't new to Anders, ending up in bed with a man was. That had never happened before, and he was a little surprised at how much it didn't bother him. Though, he'd always thought of himself as open-minded, and now he figured he'd proved himself right. Thinking over the last night he found that there were parts that he liked even better than he would have if he'd gone home with a woman the night before – things like not having to cuddle after, not really having to do much work at all, not bothering with foreplay. It had been quick, dirty, and pretty damn good. And then he could just go to sleep after.

He winced as his head pounded especially violently. He laid back down and closed his eyes, pulling his pillow over his face. _Plus, I didn't have to kick him out this morning._

He finally got up at ten thirty and made his way to the bathroom to relieve himself. He brushed his teeth quickly and was about to leave when he noticed a scratch on his shoulder. He turned to look at his back and his eyebrows shot up when he saw two sets of four lines deeply scratched down his back. He let out a low whistle as he reached back to touch one. He hissed and pulled his hand back; they'd already scabbed over, and he knew they'd be hurting for a while.

He got dressed and went to the kitchen for breakfast. He made a face, however, when he opened the fridge to see that it only contained beer, white wine, and some condiments. He debated whether it would be worth it to go to the store, but his decision was made for him when the combination of his hangover and empty stomach made him feel horrible. It would be worth it, at least, to go get some coffee, as he was out of that as well. He trudged back to the bathroom and took some headache medicine, and got ready to go to the store a few blocks away.

He shivered as he locked his door behind him. He turned and started walking towards the store, his breath puffing around him. It didn't take him long to get there, and he was grateful when there weren't many people there.

He grabbed a basket and wandered through the aisles, grabbing whatever looked good. Fifteen minutes later his cart is full of some meat, some boxed side dishes, a box of cereal, a carton of milk, and a bottle of Fenrir vodka – which he was pleasantly surprised to find in England.

He paid and left quickly, eager to get home and eat something and spend the rest of the day relaxing before the long workweek starts.

A half hour later he's sat on his couch with his laptop open next to his bowl of cereal with the TV on a low volume in the background. He couldn't help himself when he pulled up a news site for Auckland. He munched on his cocoa puffs as he scrolled down the site.

Suddenly he was interrupted as a Skype message popped up. _Dawn is calling._ Anders' face softened and he put his bowl down. He moved his cursor over the Answer button, and only hesitated a moment before he clicked answer.

It took a second, but soon he was looking at the face of his old friend. "Hello Dawn!" he said, finding himself genuinely happy to see her again after so long. Some days he's sure that he would have died a few times over without her there to help him.

"Hello Anders," she said. "What time is it there?"

"Eleven am," he said, holding up his bowl of cereal.

"Oh," she said, and Anders could tell she wanted to say something else but was hesitating.

"How can I help you, Dawn?" He took a bite of cereal and watched her watching him.

"How are you doing Anders? And don't say 'fine,' I can see the bags under your eyes and your beard is longer than I've ever seen it. Remember, in high school when you said you'd never grow one?"

Anders chuckled. "That was a long time ago – and I grew it because I was going to Norway and I wanted to blend in."

"But then you kept it."

"Yeah, so? I like it!"

"You look scruffy." They stared at each other for a moment. "How are you?" she repeated.

"What do you want me to say, Dawn?" he asked quietly. He knew the answer to her question, no matter how much he didn't really want to admit it. He wasn't okay, not really. He hadn't been since Helen was killed in front of him and her goddess was immediately reborn.

"The truth? You know you can talk to me."

"I'm okay," he lied. "I really am. I was having a bad day when Ty called, but it's better." Anders didn't miss the way Dawn's eyes flickered up off the screen when Anders mentioned his brother, and assumed he must be there. He couldn't bring himself to care, however. "So! You're getting married?" Dawn broke into a smile and nodded, ignoring the fact that Anders changed the subject on her.

"Yeah, he asked me about a month and a half ago. I thought he was a big weirdo at first, but he grew on me."

"That's great, I'm really happy for you."

"Yes, and Ty wants you to be his best man, so you'll need to be here for most of August. Do you think you'll be able to make it?"

"I wouldn't miss it." He smiled and grabbed his coffee. He asked her about JPR and listened to her talk for the next half hour. She had done just as well as he knew she would, and he rebuilt his company the way it had been at it's best, before Axl became Odin and Anders got distracted.

Eventually her yawns grew more and more frequent – as it was almost one am in Auckland. They said good night – or good day, in Dawn's case – and Anders closed his laptop when Dawn disappeared. His brow furrowed, and he felt sad. Deep down he really missed her. Not just all she did for him, but he missed _her_.

He laid down on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. He remembered how she had been in high school. Small, blonde, studious, but still popular with a lot of friends. They met and became friends during their second year, and were inseparable after that.

He didn't regret his choice to leave university after his twenty-first birthday, but he did regret how it permanently altered his relationship with her. _Ty had better treat her right, or I'll kill him,_ he thought.

Suddenly something on the TV caught his eye. They were doing another story on the girl Mitchell killed. His stomach dropped, and he sat up, reaching for the remote to turn the volume up.

"The search for young Diane Porter continues, and as far as the days grow since her disappearance, hope dwindles. . ." Anders stopped listening. He felt slightly sick to his stomach as it hit him that he had sex with a murderer. _What the fuck is wrong with me. . ._

That night he went to a bar, found a woman, took her back to his place and fucked her – he didn't even get her name and afterward when she wanted to cuddle he asked her to leave.

* * *

**The plot thickens. . . Also please note that I have not written much smut, so sorry if this is really shitty. Please review! The next chapter will be up in a few days. **


	3. Chapter 3

******Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of their creators, nor am I seeking to make a profit from this.**

**Note: Once again smut and bad choices abound, beware. (More beware my questionable smut-writing skills than the actual smut...) **

**Please enjoy, and don't forget to review!**

* * *

Chapter 3

Mitchell dodged questions about his swollen and scabbed bottom lip – from where Anders had bitten him and broken the skin - for a day and a half before it finally went down and started to heal. It was annoying – the cat calls from the other vampires he worked with, and the disappointed cold shoulders from the female vampires in his unofficial 'fan club' – but he had to admit, it was worth it. He cursed himself for not getting Anders' number, even though he knew where he lived. He figured it might be rude to just show up.

A week and a half after his encounter with Anders, Mitchell was having a bad day. He had been forced to wake up at four in the morning to go help Herrick handle a situation where a vampire massacred a family of four in a rage – Mitchell had no idea what he was so angry about, just that it had been enough to kill a man, woman, and two children. It was only made worse when they had arrived to see that it was one of Mitchell's charges who did it.

When everything was taken care of, at ten in the morning, Herrick pulled Mitchell aside to berate him for not controlling his new recruits.

"I didn't ask for this responsibility. I didn't turn any of them!"

"No, you haven't turned anyone. It's almost like you're ashamed of us," Herrick said, in that calm way of his. Mitchell didn't answer, just narrowed his eyes and glared. "Make sure this doesn't happen again."

So Mitchell did something. That night he called together all eight of his charges – five men and three women, including the man who had killed the family. They met outside town, just outside the woods. Once everyone was gathered he turned and started walking in. They didn't go far, Mitchell didn't need to be hidden at all to make the point he wanted to make, but he liked the show. They had no idea why he was leading them out there, and he liked being in control.

Once he found a spot he liked he stopped and turned to face them all. They automatically arranged themselves in a semi-circle around him and he looked around them, his mouth set in a frown.

"What's this about?" one of them asked, a woman in her late twenties (or at least she had been when she was bitten several years earlier) named Siobhan. Mitchell's face softened slightly, she had never caused problems. She had been approached by Herrick on her deathbed and gladly accepted her salvation.

_Some salvation. . ._

"This is about Jake, and his temper tantrum this morning." Jake, the offending vampire, stiffened.

"Listen, Herrick talked to me already, I get it. It won't happen again."

Mitchell laughed a humorless guffaw. "I don't care if you think won't happen again. I'm going to make _sure_ it doesn't happen again." He looked around at the rest of them and took a deep breath. "Let this be a lesson to you all – the rules are there for a reason: to make sure that our kind aren't exposed to the humans. Yes, we all kill, but there is a method to it – and killing whenever and however many people you feel like and then just leaving the bodies there isn't acceptable." He walked up to Jake, grabbed him by the collar as if he were going to yell in his face, and pulled out a stake. Without warning and ceremony he drove it into Jake's chest, his eyes stayed fixed on Jake's.

There were a few gasps from the others, and Mitchell turned to them as he dusted off the stake. "You're dismissed." He walked through them and towards his car.

He didn't go home. He didn't want to deal with Herrick or other vampires, and he didn't want to go to a pub.

So he went to the only non-vampire that he could (kind of. . . maybe. . .) call friend.

It was nine o'clock on a Wednesday when Mitchell knocked on Anders' door. It had been fairly easy to find the place again. He waited a few minutes, and was about to turn to leave when he heard the chain lock on slide back and the doorknob turn. He stood up straighter and stuffed his hands in his pockets as the door opened and Anders stood there in a t-shirt and jeans.

"Mitchell," he said in mild surprise.

"I hope it's okay that I came." He didn't realize until just then that it may be awkward, coming back to Anders after what was effectively a one-night stand. Anders raised an eyebrow, but shook his head.

"Yeah, it's fine." He looked Mitchell up and down. "Bad day?" he asked, accurately reading the look on Mitchell's face.

"You have no idea." Anders motioned for him to enter, and he followed him in, looking around the small, but nice apartment for the first real time, as the last time he had been too preoccupied to really notice anything.

The door opened to the living room, which had a couch, coffee table, and TV stand. Direction behind the couch was the kitchen with a bar and two stools, and then the wall to the right of the front door led to the bedroom. It was small, but it seemed like it worked for a bachelor like Anders.

He followed Anders into the kitchen, leaning against the bar while Anders pulled out two glasses and a bottle of vodka.

"Vodka again?" Mitchell joked. Anders' face remained serious.

"Always vodka."

"Well, alright then." He smirked as Anders poured generous glasses. He handed Mitchell one of them, and they toasted. Mitchell downed his, and Anders, who had only taken a sip, laughed.

"You really weren't kidding when you said you had a bad day."

"I don't even want to get into it. One of the men I work with did something stupid and I got yelled at because of it."

"Got to hate it when that happens." Anders leaned against the counter and took another drink.

"So what made your day bad?" Mitchell poured himself another drink.

"It wasn't necessarily bad, just extremely busy and not fun."

"Where do you work?"

"PR firm. Doing basically the same thing I did when I first started at twenty-one. I had my own firm in Auckland, I was my own boss, and I had people – well, person – working for me." He downed his drink.

"You said you left because of family issues, were they really that bad that you had to leave your company?" Mitchell asked, deciding he didn't care if he was overstepping any boundaries. He had no idea what their relationship was at that point, and therefore had no idea what the boundaries even were.

Anders gave him a look, one eyebrow raised, and then poured his second drink. "Well, my girlfriend was murdered in front of me, effectively saving my life. I slept with my brother's girlfriend and he nearly beat me to death. My other brother was too busy wooing my best friend to have any time for me, and my last brother, oldest brother, has hated me since I slept with his ex-wife before they were even together. The only support I had there was my grandpa, who told me I should leave. So I did." He took a drink and waited for Mitchell to speak.

"Sounds like you're a bit of a man whore, mate," he said, smirking.

"Oh, so my situation is a joke to you?"

"No, not at all. That really sucks. I'm just saying that it is kind of your fault – except your girlfriend, I'm sorry about that. But I know how it feels to not have anyone there for you." Mitchell looked up from his hands and into Anders' blue eyes. They stared for a moment, and Mitchell could see just how much pain Anders was in.

Anders looked away first, and took another drink. He looked around, and finally stopped his gaze on something in the living room. He picked up his glass and the bottle of vodka – which was a very strange shape, now that Mitchell really looked at it – and walked around the bar and into the living room. Mitchell spun around on the stool to follow him.

"Let's play a game," Anders said, and Mitchell, intrigued, stood and approached the couch. Anders sat down and pulled a deck of cards out of one of the coffee table's drawers. Mitchell sat down next to him, putting one of his feet up on the table.

"Boot off glass," Anders said as he shuffled the cards. Mitchell removed his foot and instead crossed his leg, ankle resting on knee.

"What game?"

"Drunken war!"

"Never heard of it."

"Because I just made it up. You know how to play war, right?"

_Probably not the kind of war you're talking about. . . _Mitchell had played a lot of cards in the early-to-mid 1900s, but not so much during the later years. He shook his head and chuckled at the confusion written across Anders' face.

"Didn't you ever play cards as a kid?"

"Of course I did, I just played different games."

Anders just shook his head, and Mitchell finished his drink and went to pour himself a new one as Anders explained the game to him. "And then every time you win war you finish your drink."

Somehow the game Drunken War turned into Drunken Strip War and they ended up sitting very close on the couch. Mitchell was shirtless, while Anders was in his boxers, his bare thigh pressed against Mitchell's. Anders won this war, however, and he downed the rest of his fifth drink, laughing as Mitchell put down his cards and nearly feel over when he stood to pull his pants off.

Mitchell, now pants-less, stared down at Anders, who was reclined, his arms over the back of the couch, his legs spread. Mitchell once again marveled that the urge to bite Anders, one that he had been suppressing all evening as he listened to Anders' heart pump his blood, was once again gone – he was starting to guess that his inebriation had something to do with it.

So, instead of sitting back down to continue the game, Mitchell braced one knee on the couch and grabbed Anders by the ankle to pull him down so he was lying on the couch.

"Good idea!" Anders said and he threw his cards and surged up to grab Mitchell by the hair to pull him down into a kiss that was all tongue and urgency. Mitchell kissed back just as hard, hands going for Anders' waist at the same time as Anders pushed them over so he was on top. He pulled back for a second and watched Anders' face, as he seemed to be deliberating something. It looked like he made up his mind, and Mitchell closed his eyes to relax into the slow kiss Anders pressed to his lips. It was the first that wasn't frantic and clumsy, and he grew even harder as they stayed there for a few minutes, exchanging languid kisses. Mitchell could feel just how hard he was as Anders slowly ground his hips against Mitchell's leg.

Finally Mitchell couldn't take it any longer, and he sat up, threw Anders over his shoulder as he stood. "Whoa there, put me down!" Anders yelled, but Mitchell ignored him and went to the bedroom. He practically threw Anders down and crawled on top of him to continue where they left off, but Anders immediately rolled them back over.

Mitchell let his head loll to the side as Anders kissed down his jaw and landed on his neck, sucking and kissing hard. Mitchell moaned loudly – there was something distinctly erotic about having his neck sucked, and he didn't know if it was because he was a vampire, or if it was just something he hadn't known he liked so much; whichever it was he never wanted Anders to stop.

Anders started to kiss down his chest, and when he got to Mitchell's stomach Mitchell couldn't help but laugh. Anders sat up, hands braced on the bed on either side of Mitchell's tented boxers.

"What?"

"Your beard tickles." Anders gave him a look, and Mitchell knotted his fingers in Anders' hair to push him back down. Anders pressed open-mouthed kisses to the hollow next to Mitchell's hipbone as he pulled his boxers down. Mitchell lifted his pelvis and Anders pulled the boxers all the way down and off. He continued kissing further down until his face was positioned above Mitchell's painfully hard cock. He hesitated, and Mitchell looked down to catch Anders' eyes.

"I've never done this before," he said, matter-of-factly.

"I'm sure you'll do splendidly – just don't bite it off and you're good."

"No promises," Anders said, and any response Mitchell had was replaced by a moan as Anders all but swallowed his dick. His hand scrambled for purchase on the sheets, and he clenched a hand in Anders' hair.

It certainly didn't feel like Anders had never given head before, but Mitchell would have thought that he had been given so much that he simply knew what he liked and how to replicated it – or at least he would have thought if he had been capable of real thought. The only thing that was going through his mind was _oh god. . ._

He could feel himself getting close, and, making a split second decision, he pulled Anders up by the hair, his other hand gripping the back of his neck as he crashed their lips together. He pulled back slightly and said, "Do you have lube?" His voice was low and Anders hummed in affirmation as he went back to kissing Mitchell. Out of his peripheral vision he could see Anders point to the bedside table. He rolled them over so that he was straddling Anders' waist and could reach the drawer Anders had pointed to.

He glanced back at Anders, and hesitated. He had almost forgotten that he should probably see if Anders was okay with where he was going. "Get on with it, mate, my dick is so fucking hard," Anders groaned, his accent thicker than ever in his lust and inebriation. Mitchell took that as all the affirmation he needed, and he grabbed the lube and a condom out of the drawer. He ripped the condom open and quickly rolled it on, suppressing a groan as he squeezed his own cock. He reached over and grabbed the lube from where he had tossed it and pushed Anders, trying to get him to roll over. When he was on his hands and knees Mitchell leaned over, his chest flush against Anders' back, and he kissed and sucked just below Anders' ear, eliciting a throaty grown from the smaller man. He turned his head to capture Mitchell's lips in an awkward and messy kiss as Mitchell reached around to stroke Anders' cock a few times.

Finally Mitchell couldn't take it any longer, and he sat up. He opened the small tube to put some on Anders' ass. He rubbed it around, and then squirted some more on his fingers. He leaned forward again and kissed the back of Anders' neck as he pushed a finger into Anders, slowly so that he could get used to it.

Anders' breathing faltered, and Mitchell could hear him mutter, "Weird," before Mitchell's finger rubbed against his prostate and he groaned. "Oh my god, do that again." He dropped down to his elbows and Mitchell chuckled as he rubbed it a few more times before pulling out and putting more lube on his fingers. He rubbed two of them around Anders' ass before putting in, enjoying the jolt of pleasure that shot through him as Anders let out a guttural groan when he went straight for that spot.

He continued for a few minutes, and at Anders' approval he pulled out and grabbed the lube again. He poured a generous amount onto his cock and Anders moved so he was on his back. Mitchell repositioned, and gently pressed the head of his cock against Anders, keeping eye contact until he was halfway in when he moaned and dropped his head. All the way in, he gasped and opened his eyes as he started stroking Anders' cock, letting him acclimate. He leant down, arm braced on the bed next to Anders' head and kissed him, trying to get rid of the slightly pained look on his face.

"You okay?" he mumbled against Anders' lips, and moved down his jaw to kiss his neck as Anders nodded.

"Just give me a minute." He adjusted his hips slightly, trying to get a better angle. Mitchell grabbed one of his legs behind the knee and pushed it up. A moment later Anders' breathing slowed down slightly and he pulled Mitchell's face back up to kiss him. "Move," he moaned, and Mitchell didn't hesitated before he started thrusting slowly. He moaned low in his throat at how good it felt, his head fell so his forehead was resting on Anders' shoulder. Anders had one hand fisted in his hair, and the other gripping Mitchell's back, his blunt nails digging in. After a few slow thrusts Anders groaned for him to move faster as he raked his nails down Mitchell's back and started sucking on his neck.

Mitchell was more than happy to comply, and as he thrust faster and faster he stroked Anders' cock in time. Both of them groaned, low and loud into each other's ears, and it only made Mitchell go faster as Anders' every loud moan went straight to his cock. He felt the heat building and building, and then without warning Anders was coming onto his stomach, clenching around Mitchell, and after a few more quick jerky thrusts Mitchell was coming as well, overcome by waves of pleasure. He all but collapsed on top of Anders as he pulled out and waited to come down off his orgasm. They kissed, long and deep, their breath shallow.

After a moment Mitchell rolled over so they were lying side-by-side. Anders reached over and patted Mitchell's stomach, still too out of it to say anything.

* * *

Anders was making a conscious effort to not think about what just happened. It wasn't that he'd just had sex – Anders Johnson could never be confused when it came to sex – it was that he had just had sex with a murderer_. . ._ He pulled his hand off of Mitchell's abdomen and draped it over his face.

It had been incredible sex, and he was quick to accept the part of him that really loved having Mitchell's dick in his ass. Though he'd never had sex with another man before, but he'd always had an open mind, especially when it came to pleasure.

Though he tried to block it out, the image of Mitchell in the alley with Diane Porter flashed through his mind and he winced behind his arm.

He moved his arm up and looked over at Mitchell. He had his eyes closed and he was breathing steadily, but Anders didn't think he was asleep. Anders frowned slightly, and then he sat up. He stood and went to the living room to grab his boxers. He pulled them on as he walked back into his room, still drunk and unsteady on his feet. He went to the window and opened it, shivering at the blast of cold air that blew into his room. He heard Mitchell sit up as he went for the pack of cigarettes in his sock drawer. He pulled one out and stuck it between his lips as he sat down in front of the window. "Want one?" he offered Mitchell the pack. Mitchell stood, retrieved his own boxers and sat down next to Anders. He took one and leaned over to light it on the flame that Anders held up. Anders lit his own and leaned back, his head resting on the windowsill. They smoked slowly, now sated and tired, both spiraling down into a mellow content as the nicotine mixed with the alcohol in their blood.

Neither spoke for several minutes. Anders glanced over and saw Mitchell watching him. He did a smoke trick, and Anders smiled, relatively impressed.

"Where'd you learn that?" he asked, and he shivered again, the late night air chilling him in only his boxers.

"Lots of practice."

"How long have you smoked?"

"Fi- since I was fifteen," he stuttered. Anders didn't comment on it.

"How old are you now?"

"Twenty-four, you?"

Anders made a noise of mock frustration. "Now I feel old. I'm thirty-one." Mitchell laughed, sounding almost incredulous, but didn't say anything else. "So you think I'm old then?"

"I didn't say that."

"Kids these days. . ." Anders muttered, and Mitchell blew his smoke into Anders' face.

Anders finished his cigarette before Mitchell, and reached out of the window to snub it out n the brick of the building. He left the butt on the sill to deal with it later. When Mitchell finished he did the same, and settled back down next to Anders. They were quiet for another moment, until Anders had another violent shiver.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked Mitchell, who shrugged.

"Yeah, but not too bad." Anders got to his knees, turned around and shut the window.

"It's almost summer in New Zealand," he said, just to say something.

"Oh yeah, the seasons are backward, I forgot about that."

"No, your seasons are backward," Anders retorted. He stood. "I'm going to take a shower." He hesitated a moment, and wasn't sure if he should invite Mitchell. If he had been a woman Anders would have invited him and they probably would have gone another round, but right now he had no idea what to do – what the protocol was.

So he turned, went to the bathroom and showered, washing the dried semen from his abdomen and between his legs.

When he got out Mitchell was gone; the only evidence he'd been there at all was the cigarette butt on the windowsill and the messed up sheets on the bed. He put clean boxers on, cleaned up the clothes he had left in the living room. Then he went to sleep, lamenting the fact that he now only had four hours before he needed to wake up for work.

Just before he fell asleep, however, he saw a piece of paper sitting propped up against the tube of lube. He sat up and squinted through the dark and saw it was a phone number. "Huh," he said softly. He rolled over and tried not to think about it – he didn't have enough energy to analyze his newfound homosexual tendencies.

* * *

He didn't see Mitchell that weekend, and he refrained from calling or texting him. He still didn't know how he was supposed to feel about the whole thing, so he avoided thinking about it.

Saturday came, however, and Anders woke with a mild hangover. He lay there for several hours, alternately awake and dozing. There was another building next to his, so the view from his window was a brick wall. It was bright outside, but no sun shone through so Anders' room remained fairly dark. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.

Unbidden Mitchell came into his mind. _I had sex with a man I saw murder someone. What the fuck am I doing?_ he thought, his brow furrowed.

The next thought that entered his mind actually did mildly surprise him. _So do I like men now?_ Anders sat up, suddenly awake. He had never been interested in a man before, but now he could see some advantages of being with a man like him.

He decided he needed to test this newfound part of himself, so that night he got dressed up, googled gay clubs in Bristol, and went.

It was small, but packed, dimly lit and loud. There were about as many women as men, and Anders felt slightly overwhelmed with the amount of girl-on-girl action going on around him, but he tried to ignore it; he had a mission.

He went to the bar, ordered a strong drink, and sat down to observe. He watched as a man went up to another man and struck up a conversation. He watched as they finished their drinks and went to dance. He soon lost them in the crowd, and he went on to watch a pair of women who were practically having sex on the dance floor, and he felt himself getting turned on. _So not completely gay then. . ._

He noticed movement to his left and turned to see a man sitting next to him, holding a brightly colored drink. Anders looked him over, taking a sip of his own drink. He looked a lot younger than Anders, and was taller, with blond hair about as long as Anders' own. He was very good looking. _He'll do_.

"Hi," the man said, angling his body so he was facing his Anders.

"Hi," he replied. The man's head cocked to the side slightly and he smiled.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"You got that from one word?"

"Let me guess, Australia?"

"Nope!" Anders downed his drink; a little tired of British people forgetting New Zealand existed. "New Zealand."

"Oh, right!" I've always wanted to go there. It seems so nice!"

"It can be." Anders ordered another drink, and turned so he was facing the man. "So, what's your name?"

"Charlie, and yours?"

"Anders." His drink arrived, something a little fruitier this time.

"Interesting name."

"I'm an interesting guy." Anders smiled.

Twenty minutes, two drinks, and a lot of small talk later Anders was once again up against the wall in a men's room, with a man sucking on his neck. Charlie was a great kisser, and he was enjoying himself.

But. . . when he closed his eyes and stuck his tongue in Charlie's mouth all he could think bout was Mitchell, and he had no idea what to think about it.

A few minutes later Charlie reached for his crotch and Anders pushed him back.

"Whoa, what's wrong?"

"Sorry, this just isn't doing it for me." He left Charlie, bewildered, in the men's.

He went outside and hailed a cab to go home. In the cab he pulled out his phone and started typing out a text. _Mitchell, this is Anders. Want to get dinner tomorrow night? _He hit send and put his phone away, not expecting to get a reply so quickly. Two minutes later his phone buzzed and he pulled it back out, both eyebrows raised.

_Only if you pay,_ was the reply. He scoffed and went to reply.

_Well alright then. Where shall I pick Her Highness up?_ He put his phone down on his lap this time, and looked out the window.

_It's not going to be a date_, Anders thought, unsuccessfully trying to convince himself. He didn't even know why the urge to ask Mitchell to dinner hit him, instead of just telling him to come over so they could fuck again. Mostly he guessed he was just extremely curious – what was it about Mitchell that made a serial womanizer like Anders want to let him stick his dick in him again? Anders had no idea, and he wanted to find out.

A minute later his phone buzzed again. _I'll meet you at your place at 8?_ Anders frowned slightly, but figured Mitchell just wanted to keep where he lived to himself in case things with Anders ended sour.

Things? They were not a thing.

_Ok, whatever, that works. _


	4. Chapter 4

******Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of their creators, nor am I seeking to make a profit from this.**

* * *

Chapter 4

The next day passed slowly. Anders woke at nine am and was bored all day. He watched half of the last Lord of the Rings movie on TV and then some action movie that was on next, but he didn't pay enough attention to know what it was about or who was in it.

He pulled out his laptop at five to pass the time and made sure to sign out of Skype immediately to discourage Dawn from calling - even though it was four in the morning in New Zealand. He wouldn't put it past her to be awake and working. _She needs a vacation,_ he thought vaguely as he pulled up the news in Auckland. There wasn't anything particularly interesting.

At seven Anders found himself standing in front of his mirror in the bathroom. He scrutinized his face. He'd always loved his face – though to be fair Anders loved every part of his body, even if he often wished he were taller – and the past year and a half or so he'd liked having his beard.

But he remembered Mitchell's comment about it tickling him, and Charlie's off-hand comment about how it was scratchy while they were making out and he wondered if it wasn't time to get rid of it.

A half hour later he was showered, dressed, and clean-shaven. He eyed his liquor cabinet (or rather, the cupboard above the sink where he kept his liquor), tried to resist for a moment, but failed. He pulled out his bottle of Bacardi and took a few swigs, but put it away immediately afterwards, wanting to be almost completely sober for this – at least until they get to the restaurant.

At eight twenty there was a knock on his door. Anders went and pulled it open, one eyebrow raised. "You're late," he said, smiling slightly nonetheless.

"You shaved your beard."

"Oh really, I didn't notice!" Anders joked. He grabbed his coat and a scarf and stepped out, locking the door behind him. Mitchell was wearing ripped jeans, boots, and a nice jacket with a scarf – together with his hair slicked back Anders had to admit that he was extremely good looking. He didn't stop to analyze that thought, instead he just went with it. _Yeah, he's definitely very hot. I have good taste. _He didn't say so, however, he simply followed Mitchell out to his car.

"So, where are we going?"

"I was going to ask you if you recommend anywhere, I don't go to many restaurants that aren't bars." Mitchell chuckled.

"There's actually a nice diner near here, we could walk?"

"Sure, that works. Lead the way!" He fell into step with Mitchell – walking slightly faster than he usually would to keep up – as they headed for the diner Mitchell was talking about. Anders thought he knew which one, he had passed it a few times over the months that he had lined in Bristol.

"So how was the rest of your week?" Anders asked, tired of their semi-comfortable silence. He glanced over and Mitchell was smirking.

"Much better than the beginning." Anders felt a sense of satisfaction and couldn't hold back a short laugh.

"You're welcome."

"How presumptuous! I didn't say it was all because of you."

"Not all, but some."

"Maybe."

"Well if not my awesome sex powers, what made your week better?" Mitchell was silent for a moment and Anders laughed again. "Once again, you're welcome!" Mitchell pushed him, not enough for him to fall over, but enough that he almost staggered into an old woman walking the other direction.

"Watch where yer goin'!" she yelled in a thigh Scottish accent.

"Sorry! You asshole," he said, scowling at Mitchell's barely suppressed laughter.

"I didn't see her!"

"Sure you didn't."

They arrived at the diner a few minutes later and sat down at an open booth. A waitress came by a moment later and introduced herself as Sally and poured them some water and gave them menus.

"I would recommend the cheeseburger," Mitchell said, leaning back to peruse the menu for a moment. Anders looked over the different meals and finally settled on a pulled pork sandwich and a beer. When Sally returned a moment later he ordered, and Mitchell got his burger and a beer as well.

When she left with their orders Anders sat back and stared at Mitchell, who was taking his scarf and jacket off. Anders left his own on, still not quite warmed up after the walk in the cold. Mitchell settled back and crossed his arms to stare back at Anders.

"You confuse me," Mitchell said finally. His voice was low.

"Really?"

"Yes. Anyone else would have run away after that night and called the cops."

"Well, I was really drunk that night." _Why is he bringing this up now?_

"But you were sober the next time we met."

"Not really – we were at a bar." Anders said. He really didn't want to talk about it.

"And then you had sex with me."

"I have sex with a lot of people." Anders laced his fingers together on the table and leaned forward. "Though you are the first one with a dick."

"Well now I do feel special."  
"You should," Anders said emphatically. "If anyone at h- in New Zealand knew I'm pretty sure they'd think I'd been switched with someone else."

"You didn't tell them about us?" Mitchell said with mock disappointment.

"Well that would be difficult since I don't talk to any of them." Mitchell paused as he lifted his water. _Great, one unwelcome topic to another_.

"It's not good to shut out your family, man."

"Let's talk about something else, shall we?" Anders smiled, both brows raised. Mitchell sat back but said nothing. A few minutes passed and their food and beer arrived. Anders immediately went for his drink and gulped a third of it down. He took a few bites of his sandwich and looked up to see Mitchell giving him a curious look; he shook his head and went back to his food. Mitchell followed suit.

They ate most of their dinner in silence. Anders occasionally looked up to see Mitchell staring at him over his burger.

"Why did you leave your number?" Anders asked finally. Mitchell put his burger down and took a drink of his beer.

"I don't know really," he replied after a moment. "Like I said, you confuse me. And you intrigue me."

"Why?" Anders persisted.

"Why? Why do I need a concrete reason?" Mitchell leaned forward. He stopped for a moment, and then continued in a lower voice. "What about that thing you did with your voice? Why didn't I kill you that night? I was going to." Anders' eyes widened slightly and he stared into Mitchell's own. His heart sped up, and he took a few deep breaths to try to stay calm.

"I don't know, why did you kill me?" Mitchell looked mildly surprised. "You didn't seem like killing is that big a deal to you that night." Anders didn't know what came over him, but once he started talking he couldn't stop. "You did even have a murder weapon – did you strangle her? In an alleyway? What'd she do to you?"

"Nothing!"

"Then why'd you kill her?" Anders hissed.

"I had to." They both stopped. Mitchell stood after a moment, took some money out of his pocket and put it on the table. "Come with me."

"I'm not sure I want to go anywhere with you." Anders looked defiantly up at Mitchell, who stood uneasily next to the table, shifting from foot to foot.

The look of intensity on his face, however, had a reckless part of him curious. That part of him was the reason he left New Zealand, the reason he slept around, and the reason he drank so much. He just didn't care. So he stood slowly, sizing Mitchell up as well as he could being several inches shorter, and followed him outside of the diner. He smiled and bade Sally a good night as they passed.

He followed Mitchell out of the building and around into the alleyway between the diner and the building next to it. "So now you're going to kill me," Anders said, only slightly joking. "You don't need to do that," he added, using his powers, suddenly nervous.

"There you go again with the thing," Mitchell turned to look at him. Anders stopped. The alley was dark and he could barely see Mitchell's face.

"Why did you bring me out here if not to kill me?" Mitchell gave him a look that clearly said 'shut up or I _will _kill you' and Anders closed his mouth.

"I brought you out here to show you why I killed that girl. I didn't strangle her," Mitchell paused, and looked away. His brow furrowed and he looked conflicted. Anders remained silent, for once. Mitchell took a deep breath and turned back to Anders, and they locked eyes. "I drank her blood, because I'm a vampire. Have been for over one hundred years." Mitchell's hardened gaze stared into Anders' narrowed eyes. He didn't say anything.

Anders didn't quite know what to think. For a moment he thought Mitchell was playing a joke on him, but then he remembered the black eyes, and whatever had been smeared all over Mitchell's face that night. He squinted, trying to see Mitchell's face better, but the night was only getting darker by the minute. "Vampires don't exist," he said, deciding he didn't want to believe it. He felt like he was twenty-one again and Mike was telling him that Olaf was actually his grandfather and he was about to become a Norse god.

"Would you like proof?" Mitchell said, and Anders stumbled back a few steps when Mitchell took one forward. His eyes were black again.

He threw every ounce of his weak power into one command: "Stop," and Mitchell stumbled back a step, his eyes going back to normal. He shook his head and looked back up at Anders. They stared at each other for a minute.

Finally, Anders took a step forward. "So you're a vampire. Where are your fangs? You definitely didn't have them last time I stuck my tongue in your mouth."

Mitchell laughed softly, and bared his teeth. Anders started, because there they were, two perfect sharp fangs. Anders' smile faded.

"Why are you telling me this now?" Mitchell was silent for a moment. The quiet of the coming night settled around Anders like an oppressive weight, and when Mitchell did finally speak his voice was unnaturally loud.

"Well, for start I know you're not human – I wouldn't have told you if you were, actually I would have killed you that night in the pub if you were." Anders swallowed, his throat dry.

"Well I guess I feel better?"

"And the other reason is that I like you. No clue why, though."

The tension broke and Anders laughed. "Well I do feel loads better, thanks," he said sarcastically. He clapped Mitchell on the shoulder and turned to leave the alley. He heard Mitchell start to follow.

They started back to Anders' apartment, walking in silence. Anders could sense Mitchell's confusion at his seemingly easy acceptance, and it only made him smirk. Outwardly he completely accepted it and moved on, but inside Anders was freaking out. _Oh my god I literally almost died – several times. I had sex with a dead person holy shit. Vampires exist? Well if reincarnated Norse gods exist then why not vampires? Next he's going to tell me that werewolves and zombies exist. . ._

They reached Anders' apartment and Mitchell hesitated when Anders went to unlock the door. "Are you coming?" Mitchell's brows rose, but he followed Anders inside. Anders put his keys on the hook next to the door and took of his coat – he had the heater blasting and it was fairly hot inside. Mitchell followed suit and went to sit on one of the stools at the bar as Anders went to the fridge to grab some beers. He opened them both and handed one to Mitchell, catching his eyes.

"So, Dracula, tell me about yourself." Anders fixed his grin on Mitchell, who nearly spat his beer all over the countertop at the nickname.

"Don't call me that." Anders opened his mouth to reply but his phone went off.

"Sorry," he pulled it out of his pocket, looked at the caller ID and frowned. It was a New Zealand number but not one he recognized. "I should probably take this."

"By all means," Mitchell said, taking a sip of his beer.

"Anders Johnson," he said after hitting _answer_.

"Hello Anders!" said a very enthusiastic woman on the other end. Anders momentarily panicked when he didn't recognize her voice, and then he was just confused as to how she got his English number.

"Who's calling?"

"Oh, oh it's me, Ingrid!" That's when it clicked – the goddess Olaf was kind-of-sometimes with.

"Oh hello Ingrid. How did you get my number?" He turned so he wasn't facing Mitchell, and vowed to kill his grandfather for giving literally everyone his number.

"Olaf gave it to me."

"Yeah I thought that's what happened." Then a thought occurred to him, "Gaia doesn't have it does she?"

"Oh no no no! Unless you want me to give it to her?"

"Fuck no I don't want her to have it!" Anders hissed.

"Right, sorry, I thought wouldn't."

"What can I do for you Ingrid?" Anders said, willing her to get to the point. He glanced around and Mitchell was staring at him, slowly drinking his beer. He smiled, and Anders turned back around.

"I just wanted to see how you are doing, you didn't exactly leave under the best circumstances," she said, and she sounded sad. Anders deflated slightly. He was getting tired of being asked how he was doing.

"I am perfectly alright Ingrid, and no I'm not coming back to Auckland any time soon, before you can ask."

"Okay Anders, if you're sure." Anders exhaled, thankful she was going to let it go so easily.

"Is Olaf there with you?"

"Yes! Would you like to talk to him?"

"Yes, I would, please." Anders heard a muffled, "Olaf! Anders wants to speak to you!" and the sound of the phone shifting hands.

"Anders! How's England?"

"It was great until every Kiwi I know started calling me. Stop giving out my number, and while I'm at it _do not_ tell Gaia where I am, since I feel I actually need to tell you because it's not _obvious_ to you."

"Okay, okay, calm down. I won't, I swear on your grandmother's grave."

"That's a shitty promise since you hated grandma and you know it." Anders hung up the phone and took a deep breath. He turned and went to lean against the counter and chug half of his beer.

"Where were we?" he asked, forcing a smile and pushing down the anger he felt whenever he thought about New Zealand.

"Sounds like people miss you."

"They should have thought about that before they let my brother put me in the hospital." Anders stared into Mitchell's eyes, trying to communicate just how much he didn't want to talk about it. Mitchell was silent for a minute, before looking down at his hands. He clanged back up and took a deep breath before sitting back, his fingers laced in front of him.

"What would you like to know?"

"How old are you really?"

"One hundred seventeen." Anders stopped fiddling with his beer bottle, quickly finished its contents and laughed.

"Well I don't feel quite so old anymore. What happened? You know, to change you?"

Mitchell didn't answer at once, and Anders feared he may have overstepped the unknown boundaries of their tentative friendship.

"I was a soldier in World War I, and I came across a group of vampires. The rest is history."

"So, you're not the only one, here at least."

"No, I'm part of a coven here in Bristol." He sighed, "And if they knew I'd told you – even if you're not human – they'd want to kill you."

"Not you? For breaking a rule, or something?" Anders tried to ignore the pang of nerves that go through him every time Mitchell referenced that he knew Anders wasn't human.

"I'd like to see them try to kill me." Anders froze for a moment, struck by the sheer confidence Mitchell exuded as he spoke. A minute passed and Anders didn't say anything. Bragi, the god of poetry was rarely speechless, but Anders, the Kiwi PR agent suddenly couldn't find anything to say. Reality was crashing down around him, and everything he'd gone through in his life was suddenly weighing on his shoulders and he felt so _heavy_. "Are you afraid of me?" Mitchell asked quietly. Anders looked up at him, and shook his head minutely.

"If you really wanted to kill me I'd be dead already. . . And at this point I wouldn't care if you did."

Mitchell's face softened, and he stood to move around the bar and into the kitchen. He walked up to Anders and stopped inches away from him. Anders looked up, into Mitchell's brown eyes and didn't see any of the monster that killed the girl that night. He saw a tall, young, Irish man with curly black hair. Mitchell's hands came up to brace either side of Anders' face. A shiver ran through him at the feel of Mitchell's cold hands on his newly clean shaven skin. "Your hands are freezing," he groused. Mitchell chuckled and kissed him. It was short, and when Mitchell pulled away Anders took a step back.

"I'm tired," he muttered, and Mitchell nodded.

"Good night Anders." He went and got his jacket and scar and left. Anders stood in the silence of his apartment for a moment before he went and got ready for bed.

For once he went to sleep sober.

* * *

**Short chapter, I know, but it's pretty heavy. I hope you liked it! Please remember to review! **


	5. Chapter 5

******Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of their creators, nor am I seeking to make a profit from this.**

* * *

Chapter 5

Mitchell walked down the road alone. It was three in the morning and there was no one else on the road. He had driven home after leaving Anders, but instead of going inside he left his car parked and went for a walk. He came across a homeless man at around one, and acted without thinking, going up to the sleeping man from behind and killing him before he knew what was happening.

He hated feeding from the homeless when he had a choice – they were nearly always malnourished and he could taste it in their blood. Nevertheless, it quenched his thirst, and he could breathe easy again.

He finally started to feel vaguely tired, and when he came across a bench he sat down and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it and took a long drag, the burning end the only light around him, as the nearest street lamp was out. He slowly exhaled the smoke, the corners of his mouth quirked up. He quietly loved the fact that he could smoke without getting lung cancer, and whenever he got nasty looks from stern old ladies he felt like laughing. Little did they know it would do literally nothing to him.

He smoked in silence, letting his mind wander. Eventually it came to rest on Anders. This short non-human man had so quickly captured his attention. Mitchell mused that it had been a bad idea to tell Anders that he was a vampire, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He flicked his cigarette butt across the street and sat back on the bench. He felt like Anders was just as messed up inside, though perhaps in a different way, as Mitchell. He wondered if maybe he could have found an actual friend in this New Zealander.

Mitchell thought about what Anders told him about his family, how he hadn't really spoken to them in almost seven months. Mitchell frowned. When he was human, family was a big deal to him. He had his mother, father, two sisters, and a girl he was going to settle down with. Then the war happened, he went to serve his country, and he became a vampire. And after what happened when he tried to rejoin his unit he knew he could never go home. It still pained Mitchell, nearly one hundred years later, to think about what could have happened. He could have returned from the war, victorious, gotten married, seen his sisters married, and had a family.

He didn't understand how Anders could completely forsake his family voluntarily. Surely no slight against him could be enough to completely cut contact? _His brother did nearly kill him. . . _Mitchell felt sad suddenly. Then he thought about the woman who had called that night. Maybe he would slowly start to make contact again. _Then maybe he'll go home. . . and leave me. . ._

Mitchell huffed as he stood, and he started back home.

* * *

That week passed in a blur of sensation. Sex, blood, more sex and more blood were his only memories.

The day after he told Anders what he was he had been roped into a bender – several other vampires picked up a large group of American nineteen and twenty year-olds on vacation. They were at a club, and the boys brought them home, where they got them high out of their minds and proceeded to have some fun. Mitchell knew it was wrong, but once the blood started flowing the primal, vampire side of him gave him no choice, and he glutted himself. He laid nearly naked, covered in blood, in a stupor for almost a full day before he cold really function again. It brought back memories, memories that Mitchell would rather keep buried.

It had been the most glorious high he'd had in a long time, but as with all highs, when he came down he crash landed, his guilt nearly overwhelming him and he sat in his room the next day and let himself cry. Then, when he was done, he cleaned himself up, and went back to work. He didn't try to swear off blood, as he had a few times in the past, but he did start to unconsciously abstain.

Four days later he was starting to feel the beginnings of withdrawal. He woke up Saturday in a cold sweat, his hair sticking to his face. He had had a dream that he went on a killing spree and when he woke he was shaking. He got up, dressed, and left the house in five minutes. It still smelled strongly of blood; though, it always did.

He walked to a coffee shop about five minutes away and got a black coffee. He went to a back corner and sat, slowly drinking and trying to will away the itch in his throat. He spent the rest of the day wandering around the city, stopping for lunch at a pub when he got hungry.

At five he found himself in front of Anders' apartment. He didn't really remember choosing to go there – his feet just carried him, and without thinking he walked up to the door and knocked.

* * *

Anders woke up early the day after Mitchell confessed – much earlier than he needed to be. He laid in bed, half of his face mashed into the pillow. He had had the nightmare again, only this time he could clearly see every feature on Mitchell's face. Then just before he was caught, the dream shifted and he was reliving their fist drunken sex and he woke up more than a little confused.

That week went by all too slowly for Anders' taste. Work was stressful and none of his coworkers were doing their jobs right. Anders missed Dawn – he missed being his own boss.

Every night after work he went to Pete's and got half drunk, flirted a lot, and then went home to finish getting drunk, sometimes with a girl, sometimes alone.

Friday came around and Anders went crazy. He went to a different pub – to avoid Angie the waitress's stare, as she thought he drank too much. He picked up three girls, though if asked if he used his powers or not to get them he honestly couldn't say, and they all got drunk, drunker than Anders could say he'd been in a _long_ time. He didn't remember most of the night.

Saturday morning he woke up with a nasty headache. He looked around, and the girls had already left. He frowned.

_What's the point of having an awesome foursome if I can't remember it?_

He got up slowly and went about his morning hangover routine. It was raining outside intermittently and his apartment looked gloomy. Anders was glad it wasn't sunny, though. It would have been murder on his headache.

He passed the day quietly, trying not to think too much, because if he were honest with himself, thinking terrified him. Thinking about life, death, his actions, all of it scared him.

He took responsibility for what happened with Gaia, and when he realized this he sat up straighter on the couch. Gaia had just come into her goddesshood and she had no idea what was going through her – why she was suddenly so attracted to Anders, to _Bragi_. He didn't blame Axl either. Axl had been so sure that Gaia would become the Frigg and they could be together forever, and he was suddenly cast aside _for Anders_. His asshole manwhore of an older brother.

And then his dick got the better of him, and he once again slept with one of his brothers' girls.

Anders felt disgusted with himself.

* * *

That night Anders was watching the news as he slowly drank his fourth water bottle. His head was still pounding, despite the meds he took, and Anders was feeling more than a little irritated. The anchor was talking about Diane Porter again, the girl Mitchell killed. They found her. They interviewed her family and Anders watched as her father asked for justice as her mother cried. He felt numb.

He turned the TV off and sat in the dark for a few minutes, his arms wrapped around his torso. It was freezing in the late November night, and Anders was torturing himself by refusing to turn his heater on.

There was a knock on the door and it sounded extremely loud. Anders stood and crossed to the door, turning on the light as he went. He knew it was Mitchell. The only other people that came over were girls that Anders brought home – and they never came back. He opened the door and saw Mitchell leaning on the doorframe. They stared at each other a moment before Anders stepped aside and gestured for Mitchell to enter. "Come in." Anders turned and went for the kitchen, grabbing his glass on the way, and refilled it. "Want one?" Mitchell shook his head and sat at the bar in what was quickly becoming his usual seat.

"How was your day?" Mitchell asked after a minute.

"Shit."

"Same."

Anders stood on the opposite side of the kitchen, leaning against the refrigerator. He stared at Mitchell, his numbness from earlier melting away into a dull anger that pulsed as his head pounded. "Why did you come here?"

"I don't know."

"That's a real shit answer, you know that right?" Mitchell only nodded. And the next words out of Anders' mouth were ones that he would come to regret. "I saw on the news that they found the body of that girl I saw you kill," he said without thinking. Mitchell looked up, his brow furrowed. Anders kept going. "Her family is calling for justice. I bet you've killed hundreds of people. I should turn you in and-" But before he could finish his sentence Mitchell had him pinned, one hand clenched around his jaw under his chin, the other against the fridge next to Anders' head. Anders stared, unafraid, into Mitchell's angry eyes.

"That would be a very bad idea," he said through clenched teeth. The tension mounted until Anders could almost see it.

And then something snapped, and instead of dealing with the issues that they both knew were serious and needed to be addressed, Anders just ignored them. He grasped Mitchell's face between his hands and pulled him down, crashing their lips together. Mitchell returned the kiss immediately and Anders could feel his anger draining out of him and being replaced by passion and arousal. Mitchell still had him by the throat, and Anders shoved him and started to push him towards the bedroom. They shed their shoes and clothes as they went and when Mitchell pushed him down onto the bed and climbed on top of him they were both in their boxers.

Mitchell pushed him back until he was sat against the headboard. They remained like that for several minutes, Mitchell hovering over Anders as they kissed slowly. Mitchell had Anders' biceps in a viselike grip as he kissed along his jaw and down to his neck. Anders moaned and brought his hands up to Mitchell's hair as Mitchell sucked on his neck. _I'm going to have one hell of a hickey_, he thought absently.

Suddenly a memory flashed through Anders' mind, and he remembered the alleyway, and the girl. The feeling of Mitchell's lips on his neck turned from pleasure to pain as Mitchell bit down, and Anders felt panic well up as his grip tightened. _Oh god he's going to kill me._

"Mitchell," he said, trying to push him off. Mitchell tightened his already painful grip. "Mitchell!" he pushed harder, but the pain in his neck only grew. He couldn't help the cry of pain that escaped him, but Mitchell didn't seem to hear. "Mitchell!"

Anders did the only thing he could in the moment, and he bit down on Mitchell's ear. He felt the skin break and tasted blood. Suddenly Mitchell gasped and let go, the shock of the pain in his ear enough to jolt him out of whatever trance he was in. He scrambled backward, his pitch black eyes wide, and his breathing erratic, until he fell off the end of the bed.

"What the fuck?" Anders yelled, spitting Mitchell's blood out and reaching up to his neck. His hand came back bright red with his own blood. He stood from the bed shakily, feeling light headed, and walked to the bathroom. He wadded up a hand towel and held it to his neck.

He stopped in the doorway and looked at Mitchell, his initial panic replaced with anger and confusion.

"Oh my god. . ." Mitchell moaned. He curled tighter into a ball, clutching his head as he whimpered.

"Mitchell?" Anders said quietly, taking a few steps forward and squatting. Mitchell jerked around, looking at him with those wide black eyes. He looked scared. Anders reached out and put his hand on Mitchell's bare shoulder, and Mitchell grabbed his wrist and latched on. He was still whimpering slightly, and Anders got the impression that Mitchell couldn't see him – or if he could, Anders wasn't the only thing he could see. A few minutes passed in silence, Mitchell still gripping Anders' wrist as he looked around the room fearfully, watching something that Anders couldn't see. His breath was fast and shaky. Finally he managed to sit up, shaking. "What the hell happened?" Anders muttered, more to himself than Mitchell. It didn't seem like Mitchell heard him. He looked at Anders, his eyes narrowed and his jaw set.

"What are you?" He groaned, doubling over with a hiss of pain, and he started to scratch at his face, hoarse screams tearing from his throat. Anders reacted, dropping his towel and grabbing Mitchell's hands. He tore them away, and after some grappling Anders maneuvered so that he was sitting against the bed with Mitchell's back against his chest, his arms locked around him to keep his nails away from his face. It was difficult, Mitchell was strong, but whatever had him freaking out made it easier for Anders to keep him more or less still.

It took a while, but Mitchell finally calmed down. He went limp against Anders' chest and his head lolled back to rest on his shoulder. They sat there for another ten or so minutes as Mitchell came back to himself, his breathing slowing and deepening. Anders felt a low hum of alarm still roiling in his gut, and his neck really hurt and he had no idea what just happened to Mitchell. He hated being confused, and he especially hated being afraid.

Finally, Mitchell sat up and turned to look at Anders. His eyes, now thankfully back to brown, were wide and his hair was a mess. He had blood – Anders' blood – still all over his mouth and he looked truly terrifying. Though Mitchell's confused look slightly tempered that terror and at each passing second Anders calmed his fear. It was quickly replaced with his earlier anger. He suddenly wanted to punch Mitchell in the bloody face, but he resisted the urge.

"So do I taste good?" he asked, an edge to his voice. Mitchell's eyes narrowed. "I usually don't have a thing against biting, but I think you're going to need to not do that again."

"No shit." Mitchell took a deep breath. "I know you're not human, but you're nothing I've ever tasted before." He sounded suspicious, but Anders could hear an undercurrent of curiosity.

"Well yeah, I like to think I'm special." Before he knew it Mitchell's hand was on Anders' neck again, holding him against the bed.

"No more games. I've never experienced that from anyone's blood before, not human, not werewolf, not other vampires, so what the fuck are you?"

"I- I can't-" he choked out and Mitchell let up on the pressure on his windpipe, but didn't let go. "I'm not supposed to tell. . ." Anders hedged, and Mitchell growled. "But I'll make an exception. Let me go." Mitchell hesitated for a moment, but finally let go. Anders shot to his feet and scrambled back onto the bed, his breathing heavy. He rubbed his sore neck, Mitchell's bite still lazily weeping blood. Mitchell stood and ran his hands through his hair – not really doing anything towards fixing it. He gave up and simply crossed his arms and focused his gaze on Anders.

"Well. . ." he started, and Mitchell raised an eyebrow. "I am Bragi, the Norse god of poetry," he said, and inside he dared Mitchell to laugh at his godly specialty. Instead , his other eyebrow went up and then furrowed.

"You're what?"

"I am the vessel for the Norse god Bragi; essentially I'm a god reincarnated."

"Don't fuck with me Anders," Mitchell said, his voice low.

"I'm not."

They fell silent, staring at each other. Anders felt a trickle of blood slowly running down his neck, and Mitchell sighed and went to grab the towel Anders had discarded. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry," he said quietly, handing Anders the towel.

"What happened? You didn't bite me the other times we. . . were together." Anders pressed a clean part of the towel against his neck and slid over so Mitchell could sit down.

After a moment Mitchell sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at his lap. "I think being drunk the other times suppressed the urge for blood. This time. . . not so much. Plus I haven't fed in a few days."

They were silent for a few more minutes. Anders looked over to Mitchell and sighed. "I haven't always been this way," he said. Mitchell looked back. "It's a family thing. My parents were gods, all of my brothers are. My grandpa is. If I have a kid with a goddess he or she will be a god or goddess. It. . . kicks in at twenty-one."

"Kicks in?"

"Well, we get struck by lightning."

"Okay then." Mitchell looked impressed. Anders felt a vague sense of smug satisfaction. "So is that where your voice thing comes from?"

Anders nodded. "Yes, until we come into our full powers – which is a whole other story – that's mine. I can persuade people with the power of my voice." Mitchell looked wary.

"Don't do it on me. . . please. I don't like not being in control." Mitchell's voice was quiet, and Anders could empathize from seeing how he had lost control earlier. And he can guess that that's not the only thing Mitchell doesn't always have control over.

"As long as you don't bite me again you don't have to worry about it."

"Yeah. . . I don't think I want to do that again." Mitchell sounded tired.

"What happened?"

"I. . . it was. . . like having a bad acid trip. I saw some weird shit." Anders contemplated asking what he saw, but he decided he didn't really need to know. So he changed the subject. He said the first thing he came up with.

"My grandpa is the god Baldr, he got of youth. He ages really slowly so he only looks a few years older than me, but he's about ninety-three. You said you were changed in World War I, well Olaf, my grandpa, was in World War II. Were you?"

Mitchell let out a short laugh. "No, I was still getting used to being a vampire. But a bunch of guys I knew were in it. You could say they had fun."

Anders raised an eyebrow, but decided not to ask about it. They were silent for another minute before Anders shivered particularly violently. Mitchell looked over at him, amused, and Anders stood with a huff and went over to his closet. He pulled out two pairs of sweatpants and tossed one over to Mitchell and pulled on a t-shirt.

"These'll be too short on me, mate," Mitchell laughed and Anders grabbed the first shoe he could reach and threw it at him. It hit his shoulder.

"Ow that hurt, you dwarf!"

"Don't call me dwarf, Dracula," he said icily as he pulled on his sweatpants. Mitchell just shook his head and stood to pull on the pants.

"Well would you look at that!" Anders said sarcastically. "They fit!"

"Only because they don't make menswear your size. You got short legs, mate. Want a smoke?" Mitchell went into the living room and came back with a slightly crumpled pack of Marlboros. He offered one to Anders, who took one. He tried not to smoke often anymore, but considering everything that had happened recently he felt he deserved one.

He opened his window again and sat down in front of it waiting for Mitchell to light it.

They sat there quietly, smoking slowly, for a few minutes. When Anders finished it he stubbed it out. He leaned his head back and sighed. His head spun, blood loss not mixing well with the nicotine, but Anders didn't care.

"So, did my god blood give you any special powers or anything?"

"I can't really tell. . . I may feel slightly more invigorated than I usually do after feeding, but other than that not really different."

They talked quietly for another hour, before Anders nearly feel asleep midsentence. They both stood and Anders walked Mitchell to the front door. They said goodnight and Mitchell hesitated a moment before he leaned down and kissed Anders before he left.

Anders brushed his teeth and fell into bed. His neck still hurt a bit, and he couldn't stop thinking about what happened. Despite himself, he couldn't bring himself to feel angry about it. Sure, he was feasted on by a vampire, which is pretty serious, but Mitchell didn't kill him, and whatever happened to him after drinking his blood seemed pretty bad. And now he knew a surefire way to get Mitchell to snap out of it. Just bite his ear. _Like a dog_, Anders thought as he laughed softly. He closed his eyes then and fell asleep almost instantly.

* * *

The next few weeks passed very quickly for Mitchell. He did his work as usual, his number of subordinate vampires growing slowly, much to his chagrin, and he spent more time with Anders. They found that they worked well together, and in each other they found a friend, someone they could confide in, and get away from the rest of the world with; especially now that nearly all of their secrets were out in the open. Though, just because they knew each other's secrets didn't mean they necessarily talked about them.

He went back to Anders' apartment the next day to check on him – he hadn't realized until later just how much of Anders' blood he'd ingested before Anders managed to get him off. He went over at three in the afternoon and they talked, watched a movie, had dinner, and then slowly and carefully picked up where they left off the night before, minus the blood drinking.

And then that night, like the others, Mitchell left before Anders woke. He didn't know quite why he did it. He thought it was because he didn't really know where he stood with Anders – what where they? Would it be weird if he stayed?

He didn't want to think it was because he was afraid of becoming attached. He refused to think about it, but deep inside he was terrified. Every time he got attached to a mortal the same thing happened, they got older and resented the fact that Mitchell didn't until they left him. Then he would find out years later that they were dead, or dying.

No, he refused to think about that fact, because he really liked Anders. He liked spending time with him, he liked teasing him, and he really liked having sex with him. He liked the fact that the first incident completely took away any desire for Anders' blood. He wouldn't need to worry.

As they spent more and more time together, Mitchell started to learn more about Anders by the way he acted. For instance, he was drunk all the time. He wasn't an angry drunk – he tended towards being a happy drunk, but sometimes he was a depressed drunk – but Mitchell couldn't help but think that he drank to forget about his problems, and Mitchell could understand that. That didn't make it healthy, though.

Two weeks after he drank Anders' blood a thought occurred to him while he and Anders ate dinner at Pete's.

"I haven't needed to feed since that night," he said. Anders looked up from his burger and raised an eyebrow.

"You're feeding right now," he gestured to the chip in Mitchell's hand.

"That's not what I mean and you know it." He threw the chip at Anders and it hit his cheek.

"That's nice, now I've got your greasy food all over my face." Anders wiped his cheek with his napkin and then eyed Mitchell. "So this is a good thing?"

Mitchell frowned slightly. "I don't _like_ killing people," he said softly. Anders' face softened.

"No, of course not, I'm sorry. How often do you usually need to feed?"

"Every few days or so. It depends on. . . how much I have each time. And I think this is because of your weird blood," he bit into his burger, unsure of how Anders would react to that information.

"I told you I'm special," he said smugly.

* * *

Four days later Mitchell was just getting home at four am – he and Anders had a pretty busy night, and he had been tempted to just stay in the warmth of Anders' bed, but in the end he still wasn't sure, so he got up when he knew Anders was asleep and went home.

He walked through the front door and was immediately greeted by a vampire and his breakfast. Shawn, a vampire only a decade old, looked up at him over the unconscious girl in his lap. Blood covered his face and was smeared all over her. "Want some?" he offered, and Mitchell was surprised when he still didn't want any. He had never gone this long without feeding, and he was confused, but thankful. He loved blood just as much as the next vampire, but he'd never like the guilt he always felt afterward.

"No thanks," he said, and he retreated up to his room.

As the next few days passed Mitchell started to feel a dull ache in his gut. It had been three weeks since he fed on Anders. He woke up at five am on a Thursday in a cold sweat, and he laid there for an hour trying to breathe deeply and slowly. He got up and got dressed in a daze, not caring what he put on. He knew that if he had a mirror – and was able to see himself in it – he would look like hell, but he didn't care. A hundred years of not being able to see himself in a mirror or a picture had trained him to not really care how he looked.

When he was human he had been pretty vain, and after he was turned it drove him crazy that he couldn't see himself. But eventually he stopped looking into mirrors and reflective surfaces and expecting to see himself, and eventually he stopped caring. Besides, he knew he was good looking – all the attention he got was proof of it.

Mitchell ran his fingers through his hair and tried to ignore the steadily growing feeling of unease in his gut. He'd felt withdrawal too many times to count, but he had never felt the symptoms come on this quickly. He groaned. _I need blood. . ._ The thought floated through his mind, and as soon as it was there it wouldn't leave.

He'd made it three weeks without even wanting blood, and now the craving was returning with a vengeance. He needed to get his mind off of it.

Unfortunately, work meant being around blood. He was helping deal with a body, and it was not helping. His hands started shaking slightly. It felt like his throat was on fire – and it all built into a thirst that he had never experienced before. Not even the burning thirst he had felt upon first becoming a vampire matched this.

He left everyone at one o'clock, when they had gone to lunch. Mitchell took one bite of his food and promptly ran to the men's room and emptied his stomach. He walked down the road in a daze, his throat burning with the lingering taste of bile on top of the thirst. He was sweating despite the freezing mid December air, and when he found himself once again at Anders' door he slumped against it and slid down to sit with a thud. He realized that Anders was at work, and wouldn't be back for a few more hours. He briefly considered texting, but his entire body was starting to ache, and he decided it wasn't worth the energy. He wrapped his arms around his torso and leaned his chin on his chest as he tried to take deep breaths. He shuddered and he couldn't tell if it was from the cold or the withdrawal.

He drifted off into his mind, sluggishly flickering from topic to topic, and always coming back to blood. He also thought of Anders, and through all the pain he was feeling he smiled slightly. Anders was able to make him forget about all of his baggage, and just be _himself_ for a change. He was happy, and he joked, and he even liked to cuddle a bit when the mood struck him. He liked who he was when he was with Anders.

He had no idea how much time passed, but eventually he sensed someone in front of him. He lifted his head and smiled when he saw Anders. His smile quickly turned into a wince when his head pounded as he moved.

"How long have you been here?" Anders asked, worry just barely recognizable in his tone.

"Since. . . one?" Mitchell wasn't entirely sure.

"Come on," Anders said tugging him up by his biceps. Mitchell stood reluctantly, wincing slightly when his entire body ached as he moved. He followed awkwardly in the entryway as Anders took his coat and scarf off and went to the kitchen. Being near Anders set his throat ablaze again, and he swallowed thickly, feeling miserable. And yet, there was nowhere else he could go. . . not really. He knew the other vampires would pressure him to kill and drink his fill, but for a reason that he couldn't fathom he didn't _want_ to drink. He wanted to be better. He wanted Anders to not have to be afraid. Mitchell knew he thought he was hiding it well, but he could see that ever since he bit Anders he had been afraid of him.

"Go sit down," Anders said, and Mitchell looked up and saw him putting the kettle on. He walked towards the couch and sank into the cushion. A few minutes later Anders came over and set two mugs of tea on the coffee table and sat down next to him. He didn't say anything for a minute, and Mitchell looked over at him. Anders was regarding him with wary confusion. "Are you okay? You look like shit," he said quietly.

Mitchell considered the question for a moment and a wave of despair washed over him. He shook his head.

He didn't want to kill anyone. But he didn't have a choice – not if the alternative was feeling like this.

He leaned over and wrapped his arms around Anders's waist and pressed his face into Anders' stomach. A moment passed and Anders' hands came up to rest on his head and his back.

* * *

Anders was surprised when Mitchell all but collapsed against him. When he walked up to his apartment and saw Mitchell huddled against his door alarm shot through him. His first thought was that something was wrong, and his second was one of confusion; Mitchell knew that he was at work until six, why would he come over and wait if nothing was wrong? And better yet, why wouldn't he call? It did nothing to assuage his alarm when Mitchell looked up at him. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale and covered in sweat and his hair was sticking to his face. He knew something was wrong, but instead of asking he simply led him inside, made tea, and sat next to him.

They sat on the couch for a long time. It started to rain, and Anders looked out the window opposite him as he gently carded his fingers through Mitchell's hair. He thought that Mitchell may have fallen asleep, but every now and then he would whimper, and Anders could feel him shaking. He looked down at the mess of curly black hair pressed into his stomach, and unfamiliar feeling of real concern overwhelming in his gut. He wondered what was wrong with him, and found that he actually _cared_.

He hesitated for a second, and then leaned down, hovering over the top of Mitchell's head. He closed the distance between them and gently pressed a kiss to the back of Mitchell's head. He lingered for a moment before he took a deep breath and sat back up.

He leaned forward, Mitchell moving with him. "Let's watch a movie," Anders said quietly, patting Mitchell's head as he picked up the remote and turned on the TV. They were lucky, and something was just starting. Mitchell slowly rolled over so he was facing the TV, pausing for a moment to look up into Anders' eyes. Anders wanted to smile or so something to show that he was there for him, but he looked so miserable that the smile died on Anders' lips. So he sat back, his hand gently running through Mitchell's hair again, getting ready to spend as much time there as Mitchell needed.

* * *

Anders woke slowly, disoriented when the room was dimmer than it usually was when he woke in the mornings. It took him a moment to realize that he was still on the couch, and it was dimmer because the sun was on the other side of the building. The TV was still on, and the two mugs of tea still sat on the coffee table, untouched. His neck hurt from sleeping with his head back at an awkward angle and he looked down to stretch it and stopped. Mitchell was still in his lap.

He looked the most peaceful that Anders had ever seen him. He had rolled back over at some point, and half of his face was buried in Anders' crotch. His hair was a mess, and his mouth was half open.

This was the first time Anders had woken up and Mitchell was still there. Anders didn't know how he felt about it. Granted, this was a different circumstance than the other times he had fallen asleep with Mitchell, but it was still a step forward in their relationship – though exactly what their relationship was and where it was heading Anders had no idea. And he would honestly rather not think about it.

He looked at his watch - seven o'clock. He needed to be at work in an hour. He looked back down at Mitchell. They needed to talk, but it would have to be after he got home that night.

He carefully lifted Mitchell's head and slid out from under him. He laughed softly when Mitchell didn't even move as he set him back down. Anders went about his morning routine as fast as he could, grabbing something to eat, as he hadn't had dinner the night before and was starving, and quickly wrote Mitchell a note telling him to make himself at home and that they would talk when Anders got back.

* * *

Work dragged, and by the time he could leave he was practically twitching to get home. His desire to talk to Mitchell had only grown over the day and Anders had no idea why. When he got home at six fifteen Mitchell wasn't anywhere to be seen. He put his jacket away and hung his keys slowly, listening.

Just as he saw the Chinese take-out on the kitchen counter he heard the toilet flush and he let out a sigh of relief. Mitchell stepped out a moment later.

"Hey," he said, and Anders replied in kind. He didn't look any worse than he had the night before, but he didn't look much better either.

"How do you feel?" he asked as he crossed to the bar. He saw on one of the stools and faced Mitchell as he leaned against the wall. Mitchell shrugged noncommittally. "What happened yesterday?"

Mitchell pushed off the wall and went into the kitchen. "Where are your plates?" Anders pointed to the cabinet to the right of the microwave. Mitchell went and pulled out two plates. He opened one of the take-out boxes and dumped half the fried rice onto one plate and the rest on the other. He did the same with the sesame chicken. He put one of the plates in front of Anders and went to sit on his stool. Instead of telling Mitchell that he forgot forks Anders stood and went to grab two beers, bringing forks back with him.

Mitchell sighed as Anders sat back down. Finally he spoke again. "Remember when I said that your blood kept me going for longer than human blood?" Anders nodded, and he'd already guessed where Mitchell was going. "Well, it's worn off. I'm basically going through withdrawal." Mitchell fiddled with his fork as he spoke, and he didn't look up.

Anders took a deep breath and reached for the bottle opener that always sat on the counter. He opened both beers, setting Mitchell's down in front of him as he took a swig from his own. "So what are you going to do about it?" Anders asked tentatively. Mitchell glanced over, and he looked torn. "Do you have to kill when you feed?"

"No. . . but that's the usual outcome." He looked resigned. Anders was also torn. He looked down at his plate and stabbed his fork into a piece of chicken. On one hand he felt for Mitchell. He'd only known him for a little under two months, but he counted him as a friend – perhaps even a best friend, and maybe even more. It hurt a part of him to see Mitchell so in pain.

But on the other hand, Anders couldn't help his _need_ for Mitchell to keep that side of his life separate. Ever since Mitchell bit him he couldn't get rid of the fear that resided in the back of his mind, the fear that Mitchell could kill him at any moment.

They had gotten on well for three weeks now without many problems – Anders didn't use his god power on Mitchell, and Mitchell didn't bite him, or talk about killing people around him and it worked. Sure it wasn't quite healthy, and they were effectively keeping whole parts of themselves from each other. But Anders had never really been one for healthy relationships. He thought back to how it had been with Helen, and every woman before her. Hell, he'd nearly been castrated for how bad he was at healthy relationships.

He chewed his chick and looked over at Mitchell, who was staring ahead, looking miserable as he chewed his own food slowly.

"What would happen if you didn't drink blood anymore? Would you die?"

Mitchell looked up and swallowed his mouthful, taking a sip of his beer to wash it down. "No, I wouldn't die. I'd just feel like shit for a while longer but eventually it'd go away. I'd just be. . . weaker than usual."

"So. . . blood's more of an addiction and less of a necessity?" Mitchell nodded. "So you can stop – killing people, I mean."

"Yeah. . . I could." He didn't sound very enthusiastic about it.

"Well, you said you don't like killing people. Seems like it'd be a no-brainer."

"If only it were that easy."

"But you _can_ do it. You don't have to kill anymore." Suddenly Anders wanted nothing more than for Mitchell to stop, to promise that he wouldn't kill anyone else. But he didn't push it further. They finished their food in silence, and an hour later Mitchell put on his jacket and went to leave. Anders followed him to the door and was mildly surprised when Mitchell leant down to kiss him. He pressed his forehead against Anders'.

"I'll try to get off blood."

"Promise?" Mitchell nodded, and he looked sincere.

"But I'll need to stay away from you for a little while. I've tried this before. . . it can get a little crazy."

"Alright. Come back when you're ready, and we can celebrate."

Mitchell cracked a smile for the first time since he had come over.

* * *

As Mitchell left Anders' apartment he felt like a knife was being twisted in his gut. He knew he wasn't going to be able to stop drinking blood. Not right now at least. He just couldn't, he wasn't strong enough. At least that's what he told himself.

He wanted to. But he couldn't.

He hoped Anders could understand. He still needed to stay away from a while – deciding to at least give Anders the illusion that he tried to give up blood, and hating himself for making the decision. So he hailed a cab, and it dropped him off near home. He found a homeless man in an alley and drained him.

He was ashamed of how immediately he felt better.

* * *

A week and a half passed without word from Mitchell. Anders was surprised to find that he missed him. But only a little. And he would never admit it.

The time passed quickly, Anders was busy at work and had little time to think between work and getting drunk.

He Skyped with Dawn on Monday night and she asked him just how much he drank and he hadn't been able to give her a straight answer, he was so drunk he couldn't remember. It wasn't until Friday night, Christmas Eve, when he was at Pete's and he picked up his second drink did he finally realize just how much he drank. He wasn't sure how he felt about it.

He put the drink down and looked around. It was crowded, and Anders noted that it was mostly groups of young people and singles who had no one else to spend the holiday with. Anders himself planned on going home after he was finished drinking and call Mitchell. He didn't get him a gift, but he had other things in mind for Mitchell. Forgetting his earlier realization he picked up his drink and sipped it idly.

He didn't stay very long after he finished the drink. Despite how crowded it was in the pub the street was fairly deserted, and it was lightly snowing. Anders shivered and pulled his coat tighter around him. He checked his watch and saw that it was only nine o'clock – most of the young people hadn't even started their nights yet. _I'm getting old_, Anders thought.

That thought didn't stop him from smiling back at a twenty-something woman across the street. She looked away shyly, and then continued walking as if she wanted Anders to follow.

He was about to follow, but then he remembered Mitchell and stopped. He was about to reach for his phone to call him when he was roughly grabbed by his bicep and dragged into they alley he had been passing. He was slammed into the brick wall, and in the second it took for his head to catch up with his body he remembered the last time he was in an alley alone at night. But then his head slammed against the wall and his vision flashed white and everything went black for a moment as a hot pain blossomed through the back of his skull. He could hear someone yelling in his face and when his vision came back he was being accosted by a blond man he had never seen before.

"Give me your wallet!" he yelled several times, but everything was still fuzzy and the words went in one of Anders' ears and out the other.

The man, thinking Anders was just being difficult, punched him in the gut. Anders doubled over with a scream before the man grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head back and repeated his question.

Finally understanding what he wanted, Anders reached behind him to his back pocket and pulled his wallet out. He threw it down a few feet away. The man snarled and punched him, hard, in the face. His head jerked back and he didn't feel it slam into the brick again because he went unconscious, sliding down the wall to fall into a heap on the ground.

* * *

**Long chapter this time! I hope you all liked it, please don't forget to review! Remember if you have any questions you can PM me or contact me through my blog (link in my profile).**


	6. Chapter 6

******Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of their creators, nor am I seeking to make a profit from this.**

* * *

Chapter 6

Mitchell smelled the blood from a block away. He had decided that he'd stayed away from Anders for long enough, and figured that since it was Christmas Eve he should go spend time with his. . . whatever Anders was to him. He guessed he would be at his usual pub – because it doesn't matter if it's a holiday, Anders likes his routine, and Christmas Eve or no it's still a Friday night.

Mitchell drove the six miles to Anders' apartment and then decided to walk from there to Pete's. It was freezing cold outside, but Mitchell had always kind of like the cold. He was three blocks away from the pub when he smelled it. It was coming from an alleyway a block away from him. A bolt of alarm went through Mitchell when he recognized that smell. He took off at a sprint and skidded around the corner to see Anders slumped over on the ground. It was dark, but Mitchell could see the blood staining his blond hair on the back of his head.

Anders groaned and stirred a little when Mitchell knelt in front of him. "Anders?" he said, his voice sounding louder than it was in the quiet alley. Anders looked up, blinking confusedly, but when he saw Mitchell he started and jerked back. Mitchell threw his hand back between the wall and Anders' head before he could slam it again. It hurt, but not nearly as much as it would have hurt Anders. "Shh, it's okay, it's just me, it's Mitchell." He pulled his hand back and put them both Anders' shoulders. His eyes were unfocused and his cheek was bloody. Closer inspection revealed that he had a cut on his cheek, as if whoever had punched him had been wearing a ring.

Anders tried to sit up a little more, but as soon as he moved any significant amount he lurched to the side and was sick. Mitchell felt waves of concern and pity wash over him. He placed a hand on Anders' back and the other braced against his shoulder so he didn't fall over into his own sick.

When Anders was finished he leaned back and looked up at Mitchell, squinting even though it was dark. "Mitchell?"

"Hey Anders," he replied gently. He started pulling out his phone. "Do you remember what happened? It looks like you cracked your skull." He dialed for an ambulance and watched as Anders nearly fell unconscious again. "No, no, I need you to stay awake."

"Happy fucking Christmas. . ." Anders mumbled.

"Happy Christmas to you too. Sorry I didn't get you anything."

"I didn't get you anything either," Anders slurred, barely holding on to consciousness. "I was going to give you my ass but my head hurts too much right now. . ." Mitchell couldn't help but laugh – even semi-conscious and fresh out of a fairly traumatic experience Anders' crassness shone through.

Ten minutes later the ambulance arrived and Anders was loaded into it. Mitchell was allowed to ride in the back with him.

Five hours and three stitches later Mitchell was sitting next to Anders' bed. They told him that Anders could go home once he woke up and they could verify that he was alright. Mitchell couldn't help but feel incredibly glad that he had decided to walk there that night. Who knows how long Anders would have lain there bleeding otherwise.

A few minutes later Anders stirred and opened his eyes with a groan. He squeezed them shut again and opened them a little more carefully. It wasn't bright in the room, but Mitchell guessed that his head still hurt. "Welcome back," he said, and Anders turned his head to look at him.

"Where am I?"

"The hospital. How much do you remember from last night?"

"I remember being slammed into a brick wall. . . that asshole took my wallet," Anders didn't sound very torn up over it, and when Mitchell asked why Anders chuckled softly. "Because the joke's on him. All I've got in there are a few credit cards I can easily cancel, a New Zealand driver's license, and two pounds."

* * *

Mitchell went home with Anders that morning. His doctor asked that he not be alone for twenty-four hours.

"Will your partner be able to stay with you today and tonight?" he asked, and Mitchell had been vaguely surprised that Anders didn't react to the use of the word "partner" to describe Mitchell. He only nodded and said that he would be.

As they rode back to Anders' apartment in a cab, Mitchell couldn't help but wonder what exactly their relationship was. Were they. . . partners? Fuck-buddies? He had no idea. It wasn't just friendship, that much he knew for certain. There was a trust that went both ways; they had shared secrets – parts of themselves – with each other and he trusted Anders not to betray his trust just has he knew Anders trusted him.

They had each made a bowl of cereal for breakfast and they sat on the couch, their thighs touching. Anders had his head back and his spoon hanging out of his mouth as he flipped through the channels. There were a few different things on, for five am, but Anders either didn't care or was too tired and drugged up to notice and kept flipping through. Mitchell smiled when he glanced over and saw that he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. He chuckled.

"What?" Anders asked, his voice subdued. The spoon fell from his mouth and into his lap.

"You can go to sleep you know. You must be tired." Mitchell tried to ignore the fact that he hadn't slept either.

"It'd be easier to stay up than to be woke up every few hours," he mumbled.

"If you're sure. . ." Mitchell said. He reached over and took the remote, and Anders didn't resist. He flipped through a few of the channels until he settled on a rerun of Doctor Who and put the remote down.

"What's this?" Anders asked, sounding more than half asleep.

"You've never seen Doctor Who?" Mitchell hadn't watched too much since it started up again, but he had known of its existence since its inception. Anders shook his head, and Mitchell tried to briefly overview the plot. It ended up not being so brief, and he hadn't watched it in a long time, or seen much of the new episodes at all so he had a hard time filling in some of the details.

By the time he finished Anders was asleep, is head lolling to the side, and his mouth open. Mitchell took his half-full bowl of now-soggy cereal out of his lap and stood carefully to take both Anders' and his to the kitchen. He rinsed them out and set them gently into the sink. He glanced at the clock on the oven – six am. He set an alarm on his phone for eight, none too happy about having to wake Anders up every two hours – but it needed to be done. The doctor said Anders had a mild concussion, and so he needed to be woken up every few hours to make sure he was okay. When he had heard the doctor give those instructions Anders had scoffed dramatically and declared himself perfectly fine; but the doctor had quietly impressed the importance of his job onto Mitchell.

So he returned to the couch, put his phone onto the coffee table and laid his own head back and fell near instantly asleep.

He woke to his alarm two hours later for no more than a minute. He shook Anders who blearily jerked awake and looked around. "Are you okay? Uhh, what year is it?"

"Fuck you," Anders grumbled, and fell back asleep. Mitchell shrugged and reset his alarm before laying his own head back down to fall asleep.

To say that that rest of the day was only difficult would be the understatement of the century. Both were beyond tired and cranky at the end of the day, and Mitchell ended up saying "fuck it" to waking Anders up for the remaining twelve hours and they fell asleep on Anders' be and slept for a solid fourteen hours.

The third time he had woken Anders up hadn't been as painful as the others. Anders said his headache had lessened a little, and they laid together on the couch – almost the same as how they had lain when Mitchell was having his rough patch. Only his time it was Anders whose head was on Mitchell's lap.

"Anders?" Mitchell asked when they were situated. He received a hum in response. "What exactly are we?" he tried to sound casual, but his voice was quiet.

"We are a god and a vampire," he mumbled into Mitchell's thigh.

"You didn't react when the doctor called me your partner," he said, his voice soft but blunt. Anders didn't say anything for a moment.

He sighed. "I don't know what we are, and I don't know why we have to label it. I like you, you like me, why do we need anything else?"

"We don't," Mitchell conceded. "I'm just. . . I don't know, I'm curious."

"Look if you want to call us boyfriends, or partners, or whatever I don't care. Now please let me go back to sleep." Anders dug his face further into Mitchell's lap and Mitchell was sure he was asleep almost instantly.

The next time he woke it was noon, and there was a buzzing coming from the coffee table. He looked up and saw Anders phone buzzing. He lightly shook Anders, who groaned. "Anders your phone," he said, and he leaned forward and grabbed it. "It says it's Ty." He puts it in front of Anders' face, and Anders takes it and hits accept, putting it to his ear.

"What?" he says, his voice none too kind. Mitchell feels a little bad for Anders' brother; though he didn't know it he picked the wrong time to call. "I was asleep. Yeah, so? Who cares if it's two here. Well because I got mugged last night. Oh yeah, it was fun. Got punched in the face, got my head slammed against a brick wall. No I'm not okay." He thrust the phone up into Mitchell's face. "Make him go away," he groaned into Mitchell's leg. Mitchell took the phone and put it to his ear.

.

"Hi, um, Anders isn't in a very good mood right now, I would suggest you call back later."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Mitchell, Anders' friend."

"Okay, I'll call again tomorrow."

"Um, bye," Mitchell said, and he ended the call. He went back to sleep.

The next time he woke Anders, Anders sat up, grabbed the couch cushion and smacked Mitchell in the face with it before standing and going to his room and falling into bed. The time after that Anders hadn't even fully woken up, he just reached over to where Mitchell was leaning over him and pulled him down onto the bed by his hair. The next time was little more than both startling awake with the alarm and Anders grumbling petulantly when Mitchell asked how his head was. It was then that they decided not to worry about waking up anymore. Or, more specifically, Anders told Mitchell, "If you wake me up one more time I swear I will kill you," and Mitchell believed it.

* * *

Sunday passed slowly. Anders was still tired and his headache faded into a minor annoyance in the back of his head. He couldn't help but reach behind him and feel the small bald spot where he got the stitches. A small bald spot was easily hidden by the rest of his hair, and he was glad they didn't need to shave more than that small spot.

Ty called again at eight and Anders told him what happened and assured him that he was fine and he wasn't alone. He made him promise not to tell Dawn, however, and Ty reluctantly agreed.

Mitchell woke an hour after he did at nine, and sat at the bar with his head on his hands while Anders made some bacon.

Anders was surprised that Mitchell was even still there. He didn't know anyone – outside his own family, and even they were doubtful – who would have stayed with him all day and night, dutifully waking him up every few hours like the doctor told him to.

But then he remembered the brief conversation they had the previous day. It struck him that he really did like Mitchell. He liked being with him, talking to him, having sex with him. Mitchell actually listened to him and seemed to like being around him – unlike most of the people he knew in New Zealand. And he was starting to think that Mitchell returned his feelings.

It scared him. He couldn't deny it, couldn't run from the fact anymore. The thought of being in a serious relationship scared him. And then there was the fact that Mitchell could kill him easily. He didn't fear for himself at the moment, but the fact was that Anders was shit at relationships, and one way or another he would eventually fuck it all up. What if he did and Mitchell got mad? What if. . . he stopped that line of thought as he flipped the bacon.

Instead he focused on how. . . nice it felt to have someone care. Someone he didn't have history – whether negative or positive – with.

"Is that almost ready? I'm starving," Mitchell said, sitting up. Anders nodded and turned to grab a plate out of a cabinet. He flipped the bacon onto it, and took it around the counter to sit next to Mitchell. Before he sat down however, he turned Mitchell's stool so that he could stand between Mitchell's knees. He put his hands on the tops of Mitchell's thighs and leaned forward to kiss him. It was a slow, lazy kiss, and Mitchell returned it without any of the urgency or hasted that usually permeated their kisses.

"Thank you," he mumbled between kisses. Mitchell pulled back a moment and looked at him closely before smiling and going back in for another kiss.

"I had to make sure you weren't brain dead or anything, didn't I?"

* * *

Monday and Tuesday passed quickly. Anders went back to work, dodged questions from his co-workers about the gash on his cheek. He called and reported his cards stolen, and ensured that they were canceled and verified that the latest activity on them was in fact himself. The stupid mugger hadn't even tried to use them yet. They assured him that his new cards would get to him soon.

He had very suddenly developed an irrational fear of walking by himself – or at least, he told himself that it was irrational – and so he called Mitchell both evenings and asked if he'd come over. He picked Anders up from work, they ate dinner together. And then Anders pulled Mitchell to the bedroom and pushed him roughly down onto his bed before climbing on top of him.

Tuesday night they lay in bed, both sated, and breathing heavily. They were half asleep when a thought occurred to Anders.

"Have you been to London?" he asked. Mitchell turned his head to look at him, one eyebrow raised.

"I lived there in the fifties and sixties."

"I haven't been yet." He was never one for a lot of travel, but he remembered his trip to Norway, and how nice it had been to see someplace new. And now, since he was still slightly shaken from his ordeal on Friday night, he wanted to get away for a few days.

Not that he'd be any safer in a big city like London, but he didn't care.

"Do you want to go?" Mitchell asked through a yawn.

"Do you?" He looked over as Mitchell shrugged.

"Why not? I like London." Anders smiled.

"Great! I'll take Friday off and we can leave Thursday night. New Years is Saturday, we can party in London! How long does it take to get there?"

"By car, about three hours, by train, about four. We should probably take the train, though, it'll just be easier." Anders nodded in agreement, and they both fell asleep a moment later.

* * *

Anders got home from work the next day excited. He put his keys, scarf, and coat away and went to the couch. He put down the bag he carried and pulled out its contents: a brand new Nikon camera. He had gone and picked it up after work and was excited to use it in London.

When he had it all open and plugged into his laptop to start charging he pulled out his phone and called Mitchell.

"Hey," he heard when Mitchell answered. He could hear a commotion in the background.

"Hey, I just got home. You coming over tonight?" He heard a crash and some yelling. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine. I don't think I'm going to make it tonight. But I'll see you tomorrow, yeah? What time?" He sounded a little out of breath.

"I talked my way into getting tomorrow off as well as Friday, so I got earlier train tickets. We leave at ten. How far is the train station from here?"

"About twenty minutes. I'll be there at nine."

"Okay, see you tomorrow."

"Good ni- ah shit." There was a yelp and a thud. "Good night!" He barely waited for Anders to reply in kind before he hung up. Anders frowned. He wondered for a moment what exactly Mitchell had been doing before he decided he didn't really care and stood to get something for dinner.

He went back to the couch with his sandwich and was bout to turn the TV on when his phone started buzzing. He frowned, Olaf was calling. _What does he want?_

"Grandpa," he said when he answered.

"Anders! How's life?"

"Can't complain," he said. It was a lie, of course. Anders loved complaining, and he had plenty to complain about, but he didn't really want to tell Olaf he got mugged and that he was in a relationship with a bloodsucking murderer because he would tell Ty who would tell Dawn, or at least the latter part, and then Anders would never hear the end of it. "What can I do for you grandpa?" He took a big bite of his turkey sandwich.

"Oh, nothing," Olaf said and Anders nearly choked.

"Then why did you call? I'm in the middle of dinner."

"Oh right, I keep forgetting that you're in a different time zone. I wanted to tell you that I'm coming for a visit!"

"Why?"

"Do I need a reason to visit my grandson?" He sounded like he was trying to come across as upset, but Anders didn't buy it.

"Yes."

"Well I don't have one and I'm coming anyway so you'll just have to deal with it," he finished, and Anders could almost hear the smile on his face.

"Fine. When?" He took another savage bite of sandwich. He knew there was no stopping Olaf.

"How's Sunday?" Anders stopped chewing.

"Well I don't be here. I'm going to London for the weekend and I won't be back until late. How about you come next weekend?"

"Sounds good! See you then!"

Before Anders could say anything else Olaf hung up. He pulled his phone away from his ear and stared at it a moment. _Why the fuck does he want to come here for?_ he thought as he put his phone down and went to finish his sandwich. When he was done he sat for a moment, and then went to put his plate away and get fantastically drunk so he didn't have to think about his family.

* * *

**I know this chapter's short, but I didn't want to make y'all wait too long after last chapter's cliffhanger. Plus the next chapter is very long and a lot happens in it, so it may take me a little while to type it up. **

**Did you like this chapter? Do you like this story? Then please leave me a review! They're the only way I can really know how you guys are feeling about it, plus they just make me so happy!**

**Also if you're on tumblr check the 'britchell' tag, as I leave updates there about this story fairly frequently. **


	7. Chapter 7

******Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of their creators, nor am I seeking to make a profit from this.**

* * *

Chapter 7

"Anders!"

Anders woke as his bed shook. He blearily looked around and frowned when he saw Mitchell leaning over his bed bouncing it. "What the fuck?"

"Good morning!"

"Fuck off," Anders said, too tired to handle Mitchell's seemingly chipper attitude; especially as early as. . . eight am. "I thought you weren't coming until nine thirty." He got out of bed and went to relieve himself, leaving the door open so he could hear Mitchell's response.

"I was up and I thought we could get breakfast or something before we went to the station." As Anders considered it his stomach rumbled.

"Yeah, breakfast sounds good. . ." He got dressed and started pulling out some clothes to put in a duffel. Mitchell was sat on his bed and instead of putting the clothes on the bed, Anders threw them at Mitchell.

"Mate, stop," Mitchell groused as the second pair of boxers hit him in the face.

"Make yourself useful and put them in here?" he asked, pulling his duffel bag down from the top of the closet and throwing that too at Mitchell. "Where's your stuff?"

"On the couch. Nice camera," he added, rolling Anders' clothes and putting them in the bag.

"I got it yesterday, thought I could play tourist." He didn't say it, but he was also hoping to get a good picture of him and Mitchell. He didn't know where it came from, but suddenly he really wanted something tangible. He wasn't a very sentimental guy, but it had been bothering him that he didn't have any pictures of his family, even if he wasn't on very good terms with them.

"Sounds cool. Sometimes I wish I could be captured on camera." Anders stopped.

"What?" He turned towards Mitchell, a pair of slacks in his hands.

"Vampires can't be captured on film. I can't see myself in a mirror either. I thought I told you that," he finished distractedly. Anders threw the trousers at him and went to the living room to grab the camera. He turned it on as he walked back to his room and didn't even look through the viewer as he snapped a picture of Mitchell. He frowned in relative shock when he looked down at the picture and saw only a pair of floating, half-rolled boxers.

"I told you," Mitchell said, chuckling, and putting the boxers in the bag.

_Well so much for that. . ._ Anders thought.

Twenty minutes later they were both ready to go. They walked down the street to a café for some breakfast. Anders ruminated over what it would be like to not see himself in a mirror or in a picture. He was a vain man, and the idea horrified him. "Is it weird?" he asked as they dug into their breakfast sandwiches. "Not being able to see yourself?"

"At first it was really unnerving. We take it for granted that we're going to look into a mirror and see ourselves, but," he lowered his voice, "a vampire's image can't be captured. It's part of why we have so many of our own in the police – we can't get arrested and booked because we won't show up in the mug shot."

"I couldn't imagine not being able to see myself. . . So you haven't seen yourself in over a hundred years? What do you do for ID?"

"I don't know how or where but my. . . boss, I guess, found someone in the seventies who looks almost exactly like me. Got an ID, driver's license, and passport made that I've been using since."

"Huh."

"Sorry I can't be in any of your London pictures," Mitchell said, his voice teasing.

"Who said I wanted pictures of you anyway."

* * *

An hour later they were at the train station, Mitchell's car parked in the long-term car park. They were towards the middle of the train, only one car away from the dining car, so there would probably be a lot of through traffic, which didn't really bother Anders too much. He loved people watching.

He was a little worried about Mitchell being locked up in a metal box with so many humans for four hours, but when he voiced his concern Mitchell assured him he'd be fine. He didn't believe him, however, and spent most of the ride watching him through the corner of his eye.

An hour in his suspicions were confirmed when he noticed that Mitchell had been staring at the same page of his comic – at which Anders had rolled his eyes – for about ten minutes. He was breathing shallow and sweating a little.

So, to distract him a bit, Anders dragged him to the restroom and distracted him for a while. They returned to their seats, slightly ruffled, with a smile on Mitchell's face and a smirk on Anders'. He raised his eyebrows suggestively at the middle-aged woman who gave them a disgusted look when she saw them leave the restroom.

After that Mitchell fell asleep, his head on Anders' shoulder as Anders stared out the window at the passing country. England was beautiful – nothing like New Zealand, he thought, but still nice.

They arrived at Paddington Station at two, and after a fifteen minute cab ride they arrived at the Royal Garden Hotel. To say it was nice would be an injustice to the grandiosity they were surrounded with.

And that's exactly why Anders picked it.

They were quickly checked in and led up fifteen floors to their room. It was extremely nice and extremely expensive and Anders smiled at how out of place Mitchell looked with his jeans, boots, and sports jacket.

"I hope you brought nicer clothes than that," Anders said as he wandered around the room, exploring. Mitchell, who was sitting on the king sized bed, looked down at what he was wearing.

"What's wrong with this?"

Anders raised an eyebrow. "This is a five star hotel. They're not going to let you into the restaurant in jeans."

"Well, I'd rather go find a good pub or something than eat here. There was one that I went to a lot when I lived here, I wonder if it's still open."

"Well before we left I looked up ten of the best pubs in London and I intend to try most if not all of them."

"Why am I surprised that all you want to do is drink?" Mitchell muttered. Anders turned from where he was gazing out the window to look at Mitchell, slightly taken aback at the comment.

"Well that's not _all_ I want to do. I want to sight see. Break in my new camera. I want to go up in that giant Ferris heel thing." Mitchell laughed.

"The London Eye?"

"Yeah, that!"

They decided that they would go visit Kensington Gardens first. They spent an hour walking through, Anders taking pictures of the scenery – not necessarily for any reason other than he had a camera and he wanted to use it. Many of the pictures were of Mitchell, but of course he was invisible.

It was a rare sunny day and neither wanted to be inside, even though it was freezing cold. They decided to continue on to Hyde Park and walk around there. Mitchell's hands were especially cold, the cold combining with his natural coldness that came with being a vampire, and he kept touching Anders' face or lifting his jacket and splaying his hand across Anders' back, causing him to yelp and attract the stares of little old ladies.

He smacked Mitchell upside the head, and when they were done at the park he went into the first shop he saw that sold clothing. He made Mitchell wait outside as he went in and bought a pair of green knitted gloves and then forced Mitchell to wear them.

By then it was around six, the sun had gone down and they were starving, having not eaten since breakfast. They got a cab and decided to try out one of the pubs on Anders' list. They agreed that it was good, but as they stumbled out several hours later they decided that it wasn't the best. The cab driver nearly kicked them out because they couldn't keep their hands to themselves, and when they got back to the hotel they practically ran upstairs to continue what they'd started.

* * *

The next day Anders woke up with Mitchell's hair tickling his nose. He was laying on his side, spooning Mitchell from behind, one arm under his pillow, the other wrapped around Mitchell's torso. He couldn't remember a time when he had woken up spooning someone.

It confused him, so he did what his instincts told him to do: he pulled his arm from around Mitchell and got quietly out of the bed. He checked the clock as he stood, it was nearly eleven. He picked up his pillow and threw it at the back of Mitchell's head. He jerked upright with a confused yelp. He blinked a few times and looked over at Anders' smiling face. "What the fuck?" he said, but there was no heat in it, only sleepiness. They had had a late night.

"It's late and we have all of London ahead of us," he said, turning to go to the large bathroom that was attached to the room. He got in the shower, and a few minutes later Mitchell joined him, still half asleep. When Anders was done rinsing out his hair they switched positions so that he could be under the spray. Anders got an idea, and stepped forward so he was flush with Mitchell's chest.

He looked up and captured Mitchell's lips between his own. Mitchell's hands stalled as he kissed back. Anders gripped one of Mitchell's hips and reached down to take care of his morning wood. He moaned at the welcome surprise and reached one of his own hands down to reciprocate, pushing Anders against the wall of the shower, his hair forgotten.

Fifteen minutes later they dried off, clean and satisfied, and got dressed to start their day.

"Where do you want to have breakfast?" Anders asked as he finished buckling his belt.

"Brunch, more like. Want to just find a café?"

"That sounds good." They bundled up for the frigid weather outside. Anders felt appropriately smug when he saw Mitchell pulling on the green gloves he bought him, but that faded when he saw that Mitchell had acquired scissors at some point and cut the fingers off.

"You mutilated those gloves."

"Oh, yeah, I did that last night when my drink kept slipping out of my hand. I don't know why I didn't just take them off. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Huh. Well, I'm not one to judge drunken decisions to harshly, as I'm known to make them frequently."

They left the room and went through the busy lobby and out into the cold overcast day. "Is it ever sunny in England?" Anders muttered. Mitchell laughed.

"It was sunny yesterday. Mostly it's overcast though, especially in winter. It's nice for me though – the sun hurts my eyes."

"Is that why you always wear sunglasses? Even when it's not bright?" Mitchell nodded. "At least you don't burst into flames," he said. Mitchell laughed loudly.

"True!"

They found a café nearby and had brunch. It was nice and warm inside, and they all but undressed as they sat – their coats on the backs of their chairs and their scarves piled up on the side of the table, Mitchell's shades perched on top. They both got coffee, and a pastry.

When they finished they decided to take the tube to the London Eye. When they finally emerged above ground again the sky had cleared, and it was nice and sunny. Anders loved it, especially since they would have to wait in a line with all the other tourists. Mitchell wasn't too happy about it, but he silently conceded that it was Anders' trip, he had only been invited. Besides, he was also excited to see the city from the top.

They were surrounded by American accents, and Anders had to laugh. "Who'd have thought that so many people would go on vacation at Christmas," he said to Mitchell, looking around at the people around them. "We're surrounded by Americans. Where are all the English people?"

"Not here. Besides, Anders that's exactly what we're doing," Mitchell replied. Anders responded by sticking his tongue out. "At least I sound like I belong in this part of the world, Mr Kiwi."

"Fuck off."

It was another twenty minutes until it was their turn to get on. Anders occupied himself by taking pictures of the surrounding area, as well as several tourists he found visually pleasing. He got a dirty look from one woman who caught him photographing her, and he quickly took Mitchell's hand before she could turn and say something to her very tall boyfriend. Something about gay men was very unthreatening to a woman, Anders had found. She saw him holding Mitchell's hand, and huffed, raising an eyebrow. He looked up at Mitchell and gave him a smile. He squeezed his hand and let go, glancing over to make sure the woman wasn't still watching. Mitchell followed his gaze, guessed what he was looking at, and rolled his eyes.

Finally on the Eye, it took about twenty minutes to get to the top. It really was a spectacular view, and Anders took more pictures than he needed, even letting Mitchell convince him to pose for a picture with the view behind him.

A woman approached them and offered to take their picture together, but Mitchell quickly declined and she moved on without a fuss, thankfully. They walked around the capsule several times, taking in the view. Mitchell told Anders that he'd been on it once before, right when it had opened.

The rest of the day was spent sight-seeing. Anders insisted on seeing all the "important parts," like parliament and Big Ben after lunch. Then that night was spent in much the same way as the previous. They picked a pub, went there for food and a few drinks, and decided to pick a different pub and finish the night there. This one was thankfully closer to their hotel, so the cabbie didn't have to listen to them for long.

* * *

The next day Mitchell woke first, his bladder about ready to explode. He extricated himself from Anders' grasp, slightly surprised at their spooned position once again, and went to the bathroom, softly closing the door behind him.

He relieved himself and went to leave the room, but he stopped in front of the mirror, staring where his reflection would have been. He frowned, and wondered, not for the first time, what about vampires made them inherently invisible to anything other than the naked eye. Several others he knew speculated that it was a predatory thing, it makes them harder to detect. Mitchell guessed that they were right, but that never stopped him from wishing that he could see himself, and having his picture taken. Be normal.

He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face, deciding it was time to wake up for the day. As he toweled off his face and neck he heard the door to the bathroom open and he turned to say good morning. Anders waved his hand sleepily in Mitchell's direction in what he assumed was a reply, and he shook his head a little. Despite himself he smiled, he was actually happy. He _really liked_ Anders, even in the morning. It had been many years since he'd felt this way about anyone.

* * *

In retrospect Mitchell knew that it would go south eventually. He was a vampire trying to play human, trying to ignore his non-human side – of course it couldn't last.

That day went well at first. It was their last full day in London. It was New Year's Eve, and they spent it doing more sightseeing. Instead of going to another pub, Anders decided to take Mitchell to a nicer restaurant for the holiday. They ate, drank, talked, and it was turning out to be a really good evening.

Throughout the trip Mitchell had been able to ignore his cravings. He'd fed the night before they left, and he'd been busy and distracted enough that he hadn't really had time to think about it.

* * *

Anders was in the middle of telling Mitchell about his trip to Norway when he heard the unmistakable sound of glass breaking at a table near theirs. He stopped and looked over to see a man who had, it looked like, gripped his wine glass too tightly while he was laughing. Anders raised his brows, incredulous, as he shook his head and turned back around make a comment to Mitchell. But when he looked into Mitchell's eyes fear spiked through him. Mitchell's eyes were black as he stared at the gash on the man's hand and the blood that poured out of it. A server came by with a towel and apologized to the man and his date profusely, even though it wasn't her fault.

Mitchell's breathing was speeding up as he clenched his hands in the tablecloth. "Mitchell!" Anders said sharply, and his black gaze snapped to Anders'. "Your eyes!" Mitchell stared at him, his gaze intense, and he seemed to gather the last bit of his control as he stood and fled to the men's room.

Any other time Anders would have followed, either to see if he was alright or tell him to pull himself together. But this time he stayed in his seat, rooted in place by a sudden fear that gripped him. He took a few steadying breaths and listened as the man, a Frenchman by the sounds of his accented English, apologized to the woman he was with. It sounded like he would need stitches and was so sorry that he would have to cut their evening short. She assured him that it was fine, and that she'd escort him to the hospital. He would just have to make it up to her next New Year's Eve. It sounded like this wasn't their first date, and she was really concerned for him. Anders smiled. The couple got up to leave.

After twenty minutes Mitchell still hadn't returned. Anders was a little worried, though he'd never admit it. He flagged down their waitress and paid the check before going to the restroom to find Mitchell.

The room was empty, save one man at the urinal, and Anders' concern turned into anger. _Why the fuck would he just leave and not say anything?_ was the first thought that went through his head, but he reeled in the vengeful thoughts and tried to be reasonable as he left the restaurant and went outside.

He knew that Mitchell had given up blood, and it had been two weeks since then. Seeing the blood tonight must have been hard, and he must have just needed to get away before he did anything. He called Mitchell's mobile, but there was no answer.

He started to walk, wanting to clear his head. It was cold, and there were a few people also out walking. It wasn't late at all, but the area the restaurant was in wasn't a very bustling part of the city, and most people were probably at New Year's Eve parties.

Anders walked down the sidewalk, looking around the few people, trying to find Mitchell. He passed a small side street and looked down it, not seeing anything. He kept going but then there was a movement in his peripheral, and he turned to look back down the street. Against the wall of a building was Mitchell, holding the Frenchman by his neck as he fed from him. A jolt of terror went through Anders, and he stumbled back a few steps when Mitchell let go of him and he fell in a heap to the ground. The woman he had been with lay sprawled out a few feet away from them. He could faintly see her chest still moving.

Mitchell wiped his mouth on the back of his jacket sleeve, and pushed his hair back out of his face. He turned and started when he saw Anders watching him. His eyes were wide, and he looked surprised. Then Anders saw the regret and guilt come across Mitchell's face, and his own terror faded and was replaced with disappointment and anger. He looked between Mitchell and the dead man and felt the anger bubble up in his gut and all he wanted to do was yell, and tell Mitchell was a fucking _idiot_ he was.

But something stopped him – probably the same thing that told him to run as fast as he could the first night he saw Mitchell. They were even similar situations.

So he looked back at Mitchell and stared directly into his eyes for a moment. He saw guilt, misery, and a profound sadness, and he couldn't bring himself to care. He turned and went back to the main road. He hailed a cab that was passing by, and went back to the hotel.

Forty-five minutes later he sat at one of the two bars in the hotel, at the very end of the row of bar chairs. There were quite a few people there, it being only nine pm and a holiday, but most weren't sitting at the bar; the occupied the small round tables that filled the majority of the room.

_I should have seen this coming._ He stared down into the last little bit of his drink before he threw it back and signaled to the bartender that he required another. He brought it over and Anders immediately took a long drink. He put his glass down and rubbed his eyes hard. He couldn't get the image of the man's dead blank face out of his mind. His seamlessly added itself to the growing number of dead faces that haunted Anders' nightmares – it was three more dead bodies than Anders had ever wanted to see. He thought of the woman in the alley – Diane Porter – and how scared she looked in the brief moment he had seen her face before he bolted, and the Frenchman's. . . and Helen's.

Anders shuddered and downed the rest of his drink, grimacing at the burn and willing himself to get drunk already so he could just stop thinking.

The bartender brought him another drink, giving him a look that clearly said "cheer up mate" and Anders managed a weak smile.

He heard someone sit down next to him, and the turned wearily to ask them to move away. He started, nearly knocking over his glass when he saw Mitchell. He wore the same clothes as earlier, the little bit of blood he'd gotten on the neck of his t-shirt was dried dark brown. He wore Anders' green gloves, even though it was quite warm inside.

"I thought you'd be here," he said, his voice quiet.

"What the fuck happened?" Anders blurted, unable to stop himself. He was a little louder than he'd intended to be, and several heads turned in their direction.

Mitchell didn't answer at first, so Anders quickly finished his drink, paid his tab and grabbed Mitchell by the arm to pull him out of the bar. They walked through the hotel back to their room in silence.

Once their door was closed behind them Anders walked to the window. He stared out at the view, arms crossed, jaw clenched. He could see a corner of the bed slump down when Mitchell sat heavily, but he couldn't actually see Mitchell. "What happened?" he asked, his voice calmer this time. When Mitchell didn't reply quickly enough Anders turned, hands going to his hips, both eyebrows raised. "Well?"

"I lost control," Mitchell finally said, his voice cracking, eyes to the ground.

"Well no shit. It's just like a drug, isn't it? Only relapsing on heroin or meth or whatever only hurts you, this killed someone! I thought you were ready to be done!"

"It's not that easy Anders! I _need_ blood! I'm a fucking vampire!"

"No, Mitchell, you don't need it. It makes you feel better and _that_ makes it a drug." Anders paused, staring at Mitchell as he stared at the ground. "You're a drug addict, Mitchell, who won't stop."

Mitchell's head snapped up, eyes angry and locked onto Anders. "This was not my fault! I did not ask to be turned into a vampire, I never wanted to drink blood! And that's really nice, coming from you. You're an alcoholic Anders, you're going to kill yourself if you don't stop drinking like you do!"

"Don't turn this on me Mitchell, my drinking doesn't kill people! Even with my admittedly fucked up worldview killing people is wrong. They had families, and careers, and people that will miss them!" He was yelling.

"I can't stop, Anders. I've tried!" Mitchell surged to his feet.

"Can't or won't? Tell me the truth Mitchell, did you even try? When you left for a week to 'get clean'? Did you try or did you just lie to me?" Mitchell's silent stare was all the answer Anders needed. "You know, I have never lied to you."

"I'm sorry I lied-"

"Yeah? Tell it to someone who cares." Anders turned back to the window. He watched Mitchell's reflection as he stood for a moment, a variety of emotions ranging from fury to sadness crossing his face. Finally he turned, hands clenched at his sides as he left the room. The door's slam sounded especially loud in the silent room.

Anders stood, staring out the window without seeing the view for a good five minutes. He heaved a sigh, dropped his arms to his side, and turned. He went back downstairs, except this time he went to the other bar. It was later, but there was still a good number of people out. He found another stool at the edge of the bar and sat down.

If he were honest with himself he was miserable. His feelings were all jumbled up inside him and he didn't want any of them. He was angry at Mitchell for lying to him, and angry at himself for trusting when a _vampire_ said he would stop drinking blood. How could he be so stupid!

He was also _sad_. Anders had always had trouble trusting people, and it always seemed that when he could finally let go, they betrayed him. He had trusted his parents to be there when he was a child, and they both left. He trusted his brothers to not be complete dicks to him and _act_ like _brothers_, and, with the exception of Ty, they had broken that trust.

And then he went and trusted Mitchell. He looked down at the glass of whiskey and coke that the bartender placed in front of him and frowned. _I should have known better._ He took a drink.

A few drinks later he mused on how he was, deep down, not surprised. The way Mitchell had been only a day after he started feeling the effects of blood withdrawal – Anders was pretty sure he would have done the same in Mitchell's shoes.

_But he still shouldn't have lied to me_.

"What's a good looking guy like you doing drinking alone on New Year's?" Anders jumped slightly. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts he hadn't heard a woman sit down next to him. He set his glass down and turned in his chair to look at her. She looked about his age, brown hair and eyes with too much makeup. She had an American accent and wore a very low-cut dress. She was perched on the stool next to him, her elbow braced on the bar with her half full wine glass in her hand.

"I should ask you the same question," he said, his usual come-hither grin spread across his face without even thinking about it. The woman smiled back, more than just a night of conversation in her eyes. She looked him up and down as she sipped her wine. Anders downed his drink, suddenly starting to feel everything he'd had to drink that night. "So, are you staying here?" she asked, her voice low and sultry. Despite himself Anders laughed.

"You don't even want to know my name?"

"Not particularly."

"Well alright then."

* * *

Mitchell walked back to the hotel slowly. He was in no hurry to get back, but he knew he had to. He'd always hated it when he fought with a friend, and with Anders being a. . . whatever he was, Mitchell felt even worse. He had no idea what he could say or do to fix things, but he resolved that he would try.

He entered the lobby, and wondered if Anders would even been in their room, or if he went down to the bar again. He frowned, and thought, _Of course he went back to the bar_. He decided he would go upstairs and wait for Anders to come up in his own time. He went to the lift, and a couple got off. Mitchell hit the button to take him to his floor and heaved a sigh as the doors closed. The ride took less than a minute, and when he stepped out into the hall it was empty. He walked down the hall with his hands in his pockets, trying to think about what he would tell Anders. Yes he had lied, and he wasn't going to make excuses, but there was nothing he could do! He's a vampire – trying to stop drinking blood was like willfully malnourishing himself. He _could_ still survive, but he'd be weak, a shadow of his former self. Not to mention _always_ fighting temptation. Always hungry.

He got to the door, and as he went to unlock it, it flew open and Mitchell was face to face with a woman he had never seen before. His mind went blank, and he barely registered the surprised flush that spread across her face. She said nothing as she slipped out the door. Mitchell watched, a frown on his face, as she walked quickly down the hall to the elevator.

Mitchell turned back to the door, the situation fully sinking in and anger flaring up in his gut. He stepped in and saw Anders laying on the messed up bed, naked and uncaring. His anger spiked.

"What the fuck is this?" He pointed out the door.

"What does it look like?" he said, his voice tired and resigned.

"It looks like you were fucking some slag."

"Yeah, so?"

"I- what?" Mitchell cried. "I can't fucking believe you!"

"Believe what, Mitchell?" Anders said, sitting up. "Do you think I cheated on you? Cheated on what! We're not in a relationship!" Mitchell couldn't tell which of them Anders was trying to convince. His fury faded and he was left with a cold, empty feeling.

"I j- you-" He stopped himself and took a deep breath. "You can't honestly say that what we've been doing is just casual fucking."

"What do you want me to say? That I'm in love with you?"

"No! Just that I'm not some casual fuck buddy!" As he said it, Mitchell realized that that's exactly what he was to Anders – no matter what Anders was to him.

"And what's wrong with that, hm? Nice and simple."

"You're unbelievable." Mitchell crossed to the side of the bed he'd slept on and started shoving his clothes back into his bag. He left his toiletries in the bathroom, not even thinking about them. He picked up his small duffel and turned to leave.

"Mitchell, wait." Mitchell stopped, his back to Anders. "Where are you going to go? It's midnight."

Mitchell didn't answer. He simply left.

He didn't have a plan; he just knew he couldn't spend another minute in that room. He was sad, but mostly he was angry. He only wished he could tell whom he was angrier at: Anders or himself.

When he got outside he called a cab. It arrived ten minutes later and he asked the driver to take him to the train station. The earliest train left at six thirty, and Mitchell planned to be on it.

He slept on a bench, using his duffel bag as a pillow. It wasn't comfortable, but he'd slept on worse in the past. He woke at six when it opened and people started arriving. He quickly bought a ticket for the first train back to Bristol and was heading home at six-thirty.

* * *

That night Mitchell sat in a diner across town from his home. He'd been there, sat in a corner table alone for almost an hour now. He stared at his prey – an older man who also sat alone, eating and drinking his coffee slowly as he read a newspaper. Mitchell had no idea who he was, just that he was easy prey.

He'd spent the day with Siobhan, Tom, and a few others. He wouldn't call them friends, but they were fun to hang out with. They didn't really do much besides watch television, drink and talk about their latest kills. When they asked Mitchell he told them about the Frenchman, but left out all of the other details. They'd also wanted to know all about his trip, but he told them to mind their own fucking business – it didn't matter to him that he'd apparently been missed.

And though he tried not to think about it, he was still furious with Anders – and, though he'd never admit it, he was heart-broken. Mitchell had been in some serious relationships over the years, and though they'd all ended, usually because his immortality finally became a problem, he'd always known where he stood in them. With Anders, he had no clue – and apparently he'd been the only one, because Anders knew exactly where wanted to be. Mitchell was no more to him than a way to get off, and it killed Mitchell that he hadn't seen it. Even more than that, though, Mitchell hated that it bothered him so much, that he'd let himself put so much into this relationship. It had been easy – there really wasn't much drama, beyond Anders' own melodrama, and they really understood each other.

_Apparently not well enough._

All of his trying not to think about Anders – and subsequent thinking about Anders – had left Mitchell frustrated and confused. So he did what he always did when he wanted to clear his head: he went and staked out his prey, intent on killing him.

Except this time he couldn't stop thinking about what Anders said about blood being an addiction and not a necessity, and how he if didn't _have_ to kill, how could he go on killing? Mitchell hadn't always known that he didn't _need_ blood, but by then he'd already had it for years and he'd never really thought about stopping. Then he'd "tried" stopping a few times throughout the years, and then he'd given it one serious attempt, which failed, before he gave up.

He stared at the old man, his own coffee sat cold and forgotten on the table in front of him. As he stared a flash of anger went through him, but he couldn't tell who or what he was mad at – but it didn't matter because as soon as the old man stood and left the diner Mitchell forgot about everything else. He took out some money for his coffee and put it on the table, standing to follow the man.

The sun was just starting to set, setting the street ablaze in orange light. The old man walked slowly, and Mitchell followed at a leisurely pace. He looked as inconspicuous as he could, dressed in dark jeans and a black winter coat. He had a scarf around his neck and his hands – clad in Anders' green gloves – were in his pockets.

Mitchell tried to push away his thoughts, but with every step he took his doubt grew. _Do I need it? Do I want to kill again?_

The answer to both was no, and Mitchell knew it.

He started walking faster, gaining on the old man as the anger and sadness grew, consuming him. He could just make out the man humming a song.

It all came to a head, and when he was just within arms reach of the man Mitchell tore himself away with a pained gasp, and threw himself against the wall. He hit his head, just hard enough to clear it but not enough to do any damage.

"Ow. . ."

"Are you alright?"

Mitchell jerked his head to the left and saw the old man looking at him with concern in his eyes. "Yeah fine, just having a bad day is all."

"Go home and have some tea, that's what my wife always says – tea to cure a bad day."

"I definitely will, thank you." Mitchell watched the man smile and walk away again. When he was gone Mitchell slid down until the wall until he was sitting on the concrete sidewalk, knees up and his head in his hands.

He felt the weight of his decision echo through him as one thought repeated in his head.

_I don't want to kill anymore. . . _


	8. Chapter 8

******Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of their creators, nor am I seeking to make a profit from this.**

* * *

Chapter 8

Anders was glad to be home. The vacation in London had been fun – up until the end – but every vacation must end, and it's always nice coming home.

He spent all of Sunday, his last day in London, in the hotel. He woke up at one in the afternoon, went to eat lunch and then immediately to the bar. He saw the woman he'd slept with there, and when she waved and smiled he felt a stab of guilt shoot through him. _Why did I do that?_ He turned away and didn't look at her again.

The train left at four, and Anders left the hotel at three. The ride home must have been smooth, because Anders fell asleep five minutes after it left and didn't wake up until it lurched to a stop in Bristol.

That week went by neither quickly or slowly. Anders fell back into his routine – waking up, going to work, going to the bar; except this time he always went home alone. He didn't know why, he had absolutely nothing to hold him back this time. Except every time he saw a woman smiling at him something stopped him from going to talk to her, from pursuing anything. By Wednesday even Pete noticed the difference in behavior.

Anders was sitting at the bar, staring into his half empty vodka-coke with his head in his hand. He was tired, but not wanting to go back to his empty apartment. He saw some movement behind the bar in front of him, and he looked up to see Pete standing there. He was looking at him with a sympathetic smile. "Hey Pete."

"Hey man, are you okay? That's the fifth pretty girl I've seen you turn down this week."

Anders frowned, and felt what he had identified that morning as misery growing in his chest. "Pete, I trust your judgment. You've been married a long time. How do you commit to just one person?" Pete, a black Englishman in his mid forties, smiled.

"I used to be like you," he said, pouring Anders another drink. "You couldn't pay me to settle down and find just one person. But when you find someone worth it, you'll know. Fate has a funny way of showing you what you want, even if you don't know you want it."

"Fate can go screw herself," Anders muttered, thoughts of Gaia flitting unbidden through his mind. "But how do you know they're worth it?"

Pete sighed and tried to suppress his smile. "Anders, I can't tell you one hundred percent how you'll know, but the fact that you asked and you seem to really be thinking about it may tell you something."

Pete walked away to handle some other customers and Anders frowned at his drink. He didn't think Mitchell was 'the one,' and Anders wasn't sure he'd ever find the one, but he knew that he liked Mitchell, and when he really thought about it, he missed him. Despite the fact that his head was fuzzy from the alcohol, Anders was thinking clearly for once.

He was mad at himself for fucking things up with Mitchell. Of course, he did have a legitimate reason to be mad at him, he lied to Anders. But it's not like Anders had never lied before, it's not like he never made mistakes. The misery bubbling in his chest grew again and Anders cursed himself and his stupidity.

_Why can't you just let yourself be happy?_ His head thudded down onto the bar and he groaned.

The next day Anders went home after work, ate dinner, watched some mindless TV, and went to bed. It was a boring day, and he had too much time to think. He had a headache all day, and after thinking for a few seconds as he left work he decided to forgo the pub that night. He laid in bed, feeling distinctly lonely, before he finally fell asleep obscenely early. He did wake up the next day feeling a little better for finally having had a good night's sleep that wasn't alcohol induced.

He planned do the same the next night, Friday night, but at six-fifteen as he was getting home he got a call. He rushed to answer it, a small part of his subconscious hoping it was Mitchell.

"Olaf," he said, putting the phone to his ear after seeing the caller ID.

"Hello grandson of mine." Anders furrowed his brow. It was very loud in the background, and he wondered where Olaf was.

"What can I do for you grandpa?"

"You can be ready to get us at the Bristol airport in a few hours, we're in Paris about to get on the plane." Anders, who had been in the process of unlocking his door, stopped.

_Shit, I completely forgot he's coming._ He finished unlocking his door and went inside. "Sure thing. What time does your flight get in?"

"Nine o'clock."

"Okay grandpa, I'll be there." He hung up and surveyed his apartment. It wasn't anything like his place in Auckland, but it was still nice. He doubted Olaf would notice, but a part of him was nervous about his family – even if it was just Olaf – seeing his new life. He'd never planned on mixing the two, and now it was happening and Anders had no idea what was going to happen.

He laid down on the couch to relax a bit before he had to go back out. He let his mind wander and he found himself thinking about Mitchell again. More specifically he remembered something he'd said half asleep and drugged up on pain meds.

_"Look, if you want to call us boyfriends, or partners, or whatever I don't care."_

He didn't really think he should be held accountable for something he said while being so out of it, but he really had meant it – at least he's pretty sure. He yelled his frustration at the whole situation, pulling the cushion over his face and rolling so his stomach was pressed against the back of the couch. A few minutes later he fell back onto his back, letting the cushion fall onto the floor. He stared at the ceiling. "Alright Anders," he said aloud. "What do you _want_? That's stupid, you want Mitchell." He stopped and let that sink in. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. _Well it doesn't even matter, I fucked it up. Just like I always do. He won't take me back._

* * *

Two hours and a cab ride later Anders was at Bristol Airport. It wasn't packed, but it certainly wasn't deserted either, people were arriving – and leaving for – home after Christmas. Thankfully for Anders, Olaf's interesting fashion sense, height, and shiny bald head made him easy to spot. It also made Ty, walking next to him, easy to spot. Anders' eyes widened in surprise.

"Ty, what a nice surprise. I didn't know you were coming as well," he said, giving Ty a hug when they reached Anders. He hugged Olaf as well, and it struck him that he really was happy to see them – it was the first in-person contact he'd had with his family in seven months.

"Grandpa you didn't tell him I was coming?" Ty asked, light irritation permeating his voice. "It was my idea to come!"

"I guess I forgot. But no harm done! We're here!"

"Finally! We left New Zealand twenty-nine hours ago. That was the longest trip I've ever taken."

"Oh I know. Not much fun," Anders said, remembering the trip when he had taken it seven months earlier. It had been even more miserable for him because he had still had a cast on his arm from where he'd broken his wrist. He fell on it wrong when Axl threw the first punch and he went down. He looked over at them, and even though they were hiding it well Anders could tell they were exhausted.

He had told the cab driver to wait, so thankfully they didn't have to stand in the cold waiting outside. Ty was smart and wore jeans and a thick jacket, but Olaf stopped at jeans and wore a t-shirt and flip-flops.

"Aren't you cold?" Anders asked him as they got in the cab.

"Nope!" Anders and Ty shared an incredulous look and didn't comment on it again.

They started sharing some of the high and low points of their long journey, and while Anders didn't particularly care he had to concede that it was nice to hear his own accent again.

The ride wasn't very long, and a little while later the three of them were huddled on Anders' front step while he unlocked the door. "Welcome to my humble abode," he said, making a grand sweeping gesture over the living room and kitchen behind it.

"This is nice," Ty said as he stepped in and put his bag down on the couch.

"Nothing like your old place though," Olaf said bluntly, following suit.

"Listen, if this is just some plot to get me to move back to New Zealand you can just leave now." Anders made his way to the kitchen, suddenly feeling an intense need for a strong drink.

"Don't worry, Anders," Ty said, his voice placating. He sat down on the stool that Mitchell usually occupied. A dull pang went through Anders' chest and he quickly threw back his drink.

"So little brother, how's life?" he asked Ty. Olaf sat down next to him. "You hungry?"

"Yes!" Olaf exclaimed, reaching across the counter for Anders' bottle of vodka. Anders snatched it back and went to get Olaf a glass, knowing he'd drink the whole bottle himself.

"Starved actually. We've only had airport food and those little cookies they give you on the plane. And that really bad dinner on the flight from Tokyo to Paris."

"Sucks that I have no food then." He smiled when Ty's face fell a little.

"Well let's order a pizza then." Anders looked over to Olaf and shrugged. He had ordered pizza a few times in the past months and had put the number on his phone. He pulled it out and ordered two large pizzas with everything on them.

Forty-five minutes later they sat on the couch with the pizzas sitting on the coffee table. "So," Ty started, turning to look at Anders, who sat between him and Olaf. "How have you been?"

Anders didn't answer immediately. He took a bite of his pizza while he decided whether to be honest or not – because while he didn't particularly want to talk about what was going on, he knew he probably should.

"As well as can be expected considering the circumstances," he said finally, being purposely vague.

"Which is. . .?" Olaf asked, and Anders suddenly felt like he didn't want to be interrogated.

"I'll tell you tomorrow when I'm not so tired."

"Fair enough."

"So Ty, you're getting married?" Anders said, and he knew the subject was sufficiently changed when a smile spread across Ty's face.

"Yeah, I got Dawn to fall back in love with me and when I proposed in November she said yes."

"That's great, little brother, I'm very happy for you."

"As are we all," Olaf said, holding his beer up for a toast. They did, and Anders downed the rest of his drink.

"Well it has been a long day for all of us, and I am exhausted. Olaf you can take the couch, Ty my bed's big enough for the both of us. If I'd have known you were coming I would have bought a blow-up mattress or something," he said, staring pointedly at Olaf.

"That's okay, I'm fine for tonight and we can go tomorrow."

Olaf merely laid down on the couch as Anders and Ty left the room. Anders put on sweats and got into bed as Ty went to the bathroom. He had underestimated just how tired he was, and was already mostly asleep when Ty got in on the other side. He resolutely didn't think of the last time someone had been on that side of the bed.

* * *

The next day they all woke up late. They decided to get a late breakfast and then walk around town a little. They were eager to see where Anders had lived. They completely forgot to go look for a blow-up mattress, and after a while Ty insisted they go to a supermarket and stock up Anders' fridge and cabinets. "You can't eat out every day!"

"I know. Sometimes I have sandwiches, sometimes I get take out and eat at home." Nevertheless, when dinner time came around Anders took his brother and grandfather to Pete's.

It was fairly crowded, but they found a table that was unoccupied. Angie, the waitress whom Anders was still pretty convinced had a crush on him, flounced over, her long brown ponytail swinging behind her.

"Hello Angie," he said, his voice full of fond warmth. He really liked her, she was sweet, and he always tipped her well. She had unofficially become his personal waitress at Pete's.

"Hello Anders, how are you this evening?"

"Much better now that you're here," he said, and she blushed and smiled widely. "Angie these are Ty and Olaf, my brother and cousin, they're here visiting from New Zealand."

"Welcome to Bristol! Now what can I get you guys?" Anders ordered his usual and Ty and Olaf got the same.

They ate and drank, and Anders felt a warmth spread through his belly – mostly because of the alcohol – because of how nice it was to be with family again.

At least, until Ty put his glass down and leaned forward, elbows on the table, about to ask Anders about his life. But before he could say anything Angie arrived with another round of drinks.

"So Anders I haven't seen Mitchell in a while, everything okay?" she asked, completely innocent. Anders blanched and before he could reply Ty spoke up.

"Who's Mitchell?"

"Oh, he's with Anders. They are so cute together." She smiled sweetly at Ty, but when she turned and saw Anders' glare it faded. "Will that be all? I'll bring the check. . ." she said hurriedly, blushing furiously and looking sheepish.

Anders looked down at his drink, considering his options. He could either tell the truth, or lie. Simple as that.

For once Anders decided to open up to his family.

"Yeah, she's right I'm - or well, I was up until last weekend – with a man named Mitchell." Ty looked relatively shocked - and rightly so, considering Anders' reputation – but Olaf just looked thoughtful.

"And what happened last weekend?" he said, going into his sage grandfather role.

"Well I cocked it up, like I always do."

"Wait, wait. Is this the Mitchell I talked to on the phone after you got mugged?"

"You got mugged?" Olaf cried. Anders and Ty ignored him.

"Since when are you gay? You're the biggest ladies' man I know!"

"I'm still into the ladies! And it's only one dude – I know, I've checked."

"How?" Ty sounded a mix of confused and curious.

"How do you think? I made out with a dude at a gay bar. Didn't do anything for me."

Ty took a long drink and then sighed. "Well alright then. So what did you do?"

"He lied about something pretty major, and I got pissed off and hooked up with a random woman at the hotel's bar. He came back as she was leaving and when he got angry I said some things I shouldn't have."

"That sounds like you. One of these days that mouth of yours is going to get you killed," Olaf said, not sounding particularly concerned.

"Well thanks, grandpa. Thanks for that," Anders said, gulping his drink.

"What did he lie about?" Ty asked, intrigue written across his face.

"That's probably not something I should discuss here. I can tell you later."

"What's so bad that you won't say it in public?"

"Something that's not a very widely known fact now shut up about it," Anders snapped. He forgot how nosey his family was.

"Well, are you going to apologize and try to get him back?"

Anders didn't answer right away. At this point he knew that yes, he definitely wanted Mitchell back. But he also had no idea how to go about it. So he just said, "I don't know." His voice was quiet.

"Well, I can help you if you like?"

"No thank you Tyrone, I do not need your expert relationship advice – just because you managed to get Dawn back doesn't mean you're suddenly the Best Boyfriend Ever." He hadn't meant to snap, but once he was finished he felt a little better. He huffed and sat back.

"And there's the Anders we all know and love!" Olaf said raising his half full glass in a toast and then draining it.

* * *

The next morning Anders woke up with an arm around his waist. He was warm and content, and he smiled as he thought about Mitch- wait.

Anders' eyes flew open and he scrambled to get out of the bed, falling off in the process. Ty sat up bleary-eyed. "What the fuck?"

"That's it, you're sleeping on the floor," he yelled.

That day passed in much the same way as the previous. Instead of making Ty sleep on the floor Anders went out and bought an inflatable mattress for Ty to set up on the floor of Anders' room – the only place it would really fit.

Instead of going out Ty decided he would cook, and so while he busied himself in the kitchen Anders and Olaf sat at the bar. Olaf was telling him about how three months after Anders left Axl and Gaia broke up, and Gaia moved out.

"You know, Axl's still mad at himself for what happened," Ty said as he cut the chicken breasts into strips.

"Yeah? He should be, he nearly killed me because of something I couldn't control."

"But you made a full recovery, don't you think it's time to let it go?"

No, Anders didn't think so. His brother had beaten the pulp out of him, and then in order to keep the peace he had been all but forced to pack up and leave everything he'd ever known.

But instead he said, "Maybe. I'll think about it."

"Good, I'm glad."

"How's Mike? He still with Michele?" Anders asked tentatively. He hated the way Mike treated him, but the small boy inside of him that loved and looked up to his older brother never left him – much to his chagrin. Despite how cruel Mike's words could be, Anders loved and cared about him.

"Mike's very well – and yes they' re still together," Ty said, putting the now diced chicken into the pan to cook in olive oil. "They're actually going to have a baby. Michele just found out a few weeks ago. Due next August, around the time of my wedding actually. That'll be a wonderfully hormonal time for us all."

"God help that poor child," Anders said after he let the news sink in.

"That's what I said!" Olaf laughed.

They lapsed into silence while Ty cooked. It was probably seven or eight minutes before Ty spoke again. "So, are you going to tell us what Mitchell lied about? What? I'm curious!" he added when Anders gave him a look. Anders sighed.

"Fine. But first there's something I guess you should know about him – and you can't tell anyone else, not even Dawn," he added for Ty's benefit. Ty nodded. "Well he's. . . he's a vampire," he said, deciding hesitancy wasn't really his style. "And the first time we met I was drunk walking home and stumbled on him. . . having 'dinner.' He nearly killed me, and then we became friends, and the more than friends. . . long story short, he said he would try to stop drinking blood and he lied, he didn't try." Anders stopped, considering how crazy he sounded to them. "I know it's a lot to take in."

"I think that excessive drinking of yours is going to your head, bro."

"Vampires can stop drinking blood?" Olaf asked, sounding curious.

"Grandpa you can't believe him, vampires don't exist."

"Of course they do, they have for a very, very long time. I've even met a few." His voice turned bitter, an uncharacteristic tone for Olaf, and Anders decided to ask about it later.

"To answer your question, yes they can apparently. It's just a matter of them actually wanting to." Anders glanced at Ty, who looked bewildered. "What? It's so weird that vampires exist when you're – were a Norse god?" Ty's mouth opened and closed and he looked down.

"Well, when you put it that way. . ."

"That's what I said," Anders quipped, echoing Olaf's earlier statement. "How much longer? I'm starved."

"It's ready," he replied.

Anders didn't have a table so they sat at the couch again with the TV on. A show was on but none of them were paying attention. I don't get why Mitchell loves this show so much, Anders thought as the show's title flashed across the screen – "The Real Hustle."

"So when did you meet vampires?" Anders asked after he swallowed a mouthful of chicken.

"Oh, must have been in the fifties. I came here with your grandma, like I told you. I didn't think they'd still be here, otherwise I wouldn't have suggested you come to Bristol."

"Wait, you're the reason Anders left?" Ty interrupted.

"I probably would have left anyway at some point. You were saying?"

"Vampires are violent and volatile, and. . ." Olaf stopped for a second. "I never told you how your grandma died, did I?" He adjusted so he was sitting on the armrest of the couch, facing both his grandsons. "She was killed by vampires." He stopped, and Anders couldn't tell if it was for dramatic effect, or because the memory was painful. Anders had a feeling it was some of both.

"What happened?" Ty asked tentatively.

"We met some vampires, befriended them. Of course we didn't know they were vampires at first, not until some of them decided your grandma was going to be dinner. They found out that our blood is like a drug to them – at least, more so than human blood. It gives them an intense high and makes them more powerful. Thankfully for me it also makes them kind of out of it – I mean, they got _really_ high – and I was able to get away before they decided they wanted me too."

Anders felt the blood drain from his face. "How many were there?"

"When they got her? Six or seven. They all got a little," he sounded bitter.

"How come you never told us this before Grandpa?" Ty asked.

"Because I didn't want to tell you about vampires. I hoped you'd never encounter any. Though, leave it to Anders to not only find one, but to fall in love with one."

"Hey, hey, hey who said anything about love?" Olaf just gave him a skeptical look.

"What does he look like?" Olaf asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Mitchell, what does he look like?"

"Oh, few inches taller than me, real skinny, black curly hair, Irish. Why?"

"He wasn't there that night." Anders understood, and felt a weight he didn't know he'd been carrying lifted.

"Well that's good to know."

They drank a few more beers a piece – Olaf decided to tell more, decidedly less sad, stories about his youth – before they went to bed.

However, Anders found that he couldn't sleep. His brain wouldn't shut up, and as he listened to Ty's steady breathing across the room he couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with him. Olaf said that their god blood gave vampires an intense, awesome high, but it had not looked like Mitchell had been having a good time.

_What's wrong with my blood? Am I sick? What if I've got a blood disease or something?_ He tried to quiet his mind, and he laid there another twenty minutes before he finally fell asleep. As his brain finally quieted one thought floated through.

_What is wrong with me?_

* * *

Mitchell woke suddenly, and his head whipped to look at the door. Siobhan stood there, concern written across her face.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice raspy. He hadn't used it for much beside pained moans for a week. Withdrawal really sucked, but he was determined this time.

The night he almost killed the old man was one of the most difficult. He was an emotional wreck, and as soon as he recovered enough he stood and went back to get his car. He drove, more recklessly than he should have, to the nearest grocery store and stocked up on water and crackers and went home to lock himself in his room. He didn't remember most of the week, and for that he was pretty glad. He woke up Sunday afternoon finally feeling better. He took his first easy breaths all week and felt like crying because the worst was finally over.

Now it was Monday morning, and Mitchell stared at Siobhan. He stood and picked through the clothes on his floor, looking for a (relatively) clean shirt. He found one and pulled it on. "I just wanted to see if you were okay, we haven't seen you all week," she said, crossing her arms and leaning on the door frame.

"Well, you'll probably be seeing less of me. I need a change, I can't clean up other people's messes anymore. . . I can't be around the blood."

"So it's true then? You stopped feeding?

"Yes.

"Why?"

"Listen, you're still young. All of this still has that air of novelty for you, you still _enjoy_ it all. I've been around of over a hundred years, I don't want to kill anymore. I can't." He made sure he had his wallet and he pushed past her as he tried to smooth back his hair.

"Where are you going?"

"Store, I need real food."

Twenty minutes later Mitchell held a basket with two boxes of cereal and was looking for the milk. There weren't many other people there, and for one in the afternoon on a Monday Mitchell didn't really expect there to be more than a few people.

As he approached the dairy section he saw two men debating meat on the next section over. One was tall and bald and the other was shorter with black hair. Mitchell opened the door and grabbed a carton of milk and nearly dropped it when he finally caught part of their conversation. _That accent. . ._

"Can I help you with something?" the shorter one said, and a second later Mitchell realized that he was speaking to him; he'd been staring.

"Sorry, no, I just – you don't get many New Zealanders in Bristol." He laughed softly. "Do you know Anders Johnson?" The shorter one looked surprised, but the bald one just smiled.

"Yes, we're unfortunately related to him. I'm Ty, this is Olaf." Ty held out his hand and Mitchell shook it. Knowing Anders he could see why Ty would say that, but nevertheless it wasn't a very nice thing to say. Mitchell decided not to judge, however, because the only things he knew about Anders' family were what Anders told him.

"You must be Mitchell," Olaf said, and something clicked for Ty and his smile grew. "Anders has told us a lot about you."

"Has he? That's weird. . ." he added under his breath.

"Why weird?"

"Just, we're not exactly speaking at the moment."

"What if we told you that Anders misses you?"

"So he told you a lot then, oh." Mitchell didn't know if he could trust these two, but they were here, in England, visiting Anders. Maybe they were the good guys. "I'd say I miss him too," he replied quietly.

"Why don't you come meet us at Pete's for dinner? Anders is too stubborn to call you and apologize, and really he thinks you won't take him back."

_Oh yeah, he told them everything. Bastard._

He thought for a moment. Really, the worst that could happen is Anders would tell him to leave, and then he would simply move on with his life – just as he'd done with every other relationship he'd had with a mortal.

"Sure, why not."

They agreed to meet at eight, and Mitchell said goodbye and started towards the check-out.

"Anders is going to hate you for meddling," he heard Olaf say as he walked away.

"Anders will get over it." Mitchell laughed.

At eight o'clock Mitchell parked in Pete's small car park. It was nearly full, for which Mitchell was happy. It would be much more conspicuous if he were rejected in a nearly empty pub. He got out of the car, locked it, and walked over to the front door. As he walked through the pub's entrance he immediately spotted Anders. It helped that he was at the same table he always sat at. His back was facing the door, and Ty spotted him first. He smiled and looked pointedly between Mitchell and the bar. Mitchell guessed that meant he shouldn't go straight to the table, so that Anders could come to him. Smart, make it seem like it was his idea.

He located two empty stools next to each other and sat down. "Hey Pete," he said when he walked over to where Mitchell sat.

"Hey Mitchell, the usual?" Mitchell nodded and Pete went to get him a pint. He handed it to Mitchell and gestured behind him. "This is the first time you two have been here at the same time in a while."

"Yeah, we had a bit of a falling out," he grumbled, putting the glass to his mouth and taking a drink.

"I know, he told me. He came to me for some advice a few days ago."

"About what?" Mitchell cried, trying to keep his voice down.

"Ask him."

Mitchell whipped around in time to see Anders stand and start towards him. He turned back around, noting that Pete had made himself scarce, and all but chugged his beer.

"Hey," Anders said, hopping onto the stood next to Mitchell. It was slightly too high for him.

"Hi." Anders didn't speak again for a moment. He looked like he was waiting for Pete to walk back over.

"Hello Anders, what can I get for you?" Pete said when he finished with another customer.

"Three beers please." He eyed Mitchell, and for a second – the longest second in Mitchell's life – was silent. But then he smiled and turned back to Pete. "Make that four."

"You've got it," Pete said, his smile a bit too smug for Mitchell's taste; however he didn't say anything about it. He was too busy trying to quell the relief that flooded through him.

"I'm sorry I lied," he said quietly, looking down at his empty glass. Anders reached over and turned his head to look into Mitchell's eyes.

He took a deep breath and sighed. "We were both idiots. It's in the past." He moved his hand so it was on Mitchell's shoulder, and he gripped it tight. Mitchell copied the gesture, and resisted the urge to press his forehead to Anders'. He settled for whispering, "I missed you."

He fully expected a retort that would diffuse the moment, but instead Anders' smile faded and he stared hard into Mitchell's eyes. "I missed you too," he whispered, so quietly that Mitchell almost couldn't hear. He smiled, reassured by the knowledge that Anders really meant it.

It was _then_ that Anders ruined the moment by pulling Mitchell off the stool and to the bathroom for a (fairly) quick and very heated make-out session. Mitchell didn't complain, especially when Anders all but slammed him against the wooden paneled wall and attacked him. It was really nice, especially after the week he'd had.

By the time they exited the bathroom, looking distinctly tousled and not caring one bit, Ty had gone to get their four beers, and he and Olaf were already halfway done with theirs.

Mitchell followed Anders to the table, looking a little sheepish under Ty's and Olaf's knowing smiles. "Ty, Grandpa, I'd like you to meet my very good friend. Mitchell, my brother Ty and my grandpa Olaf."

"Good to see you again Mitchell," Olaf said, raising his glass as Mitchell sat and picked his own up. He clacked it against Olaf's and drank as Anders demanded, "Again?"

"Yeah, we met at Tesco earlier. He figured there weren't too many Kiwi's in Bristol and that we were here for your sorry ass."

"Hey, I didn't ask you to come, alright? Did they tell you to come here tonight? No wonder they dragged me out."

"Long day?" Mitchell suggested, and Anders nodded into his glass. "And yes, they did." He lowered his voice a bit. "I wasn't sure you'd want to talk."

"I didn't think you'd want to talk either, after I what I said – shut up Tyrone," he added when Ty opened his mouth. "No one asked you to meddle. . . but I'm glad you did. . ." he mumbled.

They made small talk for a while, but after about ten minutes Anders was fed up and announced that everyone knew everything about everyone, and that they could get on with normal conversation.

"So Mitchell, how old are you?" Olaf asked after a minute.

"Hundred seventeen."

"Huh, so when'd you become a vampire?"

"During World War I. I was in the trenches."

"I know that life – World War II myself."

"Yeah that's what Anders said. Crazy time."

"That it was." He and Olaf started swapping war stories as Anders and Ty sat back listening.

"Just how often do you guys come here?" Ty asked a little while later. "They seem to know you pretty well," he gestured to Pete, and Angie, who were talking over at the bar.

Anders and Mitchell looked at each other, and Mitchell laughed. "Four or five times a week?"

"It's close-"

"To you," Mitchell interrupted.

"And the food's good and Angie's a sweet girl," Anders said.

"She's sweet to you because you give her huge tips."

"I'll have you know that I came here the first night I was in Bristol, still in a cast with a black eye, and she was nice to me, which was something that didn't happen very often when I lived in New Zealand."

They talked for a while longer before deciding to head home – everyone a little tipsy.

"Where the hell am I supposed to sleep?" Ty asked, indignant, as Anders ushered Mitchell into his room. Mitchell felt a little bad when he saw the inflatable mattress on the floor – but at the same time he was looking forward to catching up. Plus there was the raging hard-on in his pants and he was burning for Anders.

"I don't care. Hell, stay on the mattress, it's up to you." Ty's eyes widened and he shook his head as he turned and went to the couch with Olaf.

Mitchell stepped up to Anders and shut the door before he grabbed Anders by the collar of his shirt and threw him onto the bed. He climbed on top of him and smashed their mouths together. They kissed for a long time, their hands roaming over each other's bodies, getting to know the other all over again. It had only been a week, but it felt like a year. Mitchell tried to keep it slow, make it last, but the passion was building and building and Anders flipped them over. He clawed at Anders' jacket and Anders pulled back to rip his jacket and shirt off. Mitchell followed suit and pulled Anders back so they were flush against each other, bare chest to bare chest.

Anders went in to kiss him again but Mitchell stopped him and held him a few inches away. He stared into Anders' eyes, both their breathing heavy. He pulled Anders' down and kissed him slowly. Anders reached down and squeezed Mitchell's crotch, and they both pulled their pants off. Anders kissed down Mitchell's jaw until he was kissing and sucking the part of Mitchell's neck he knew drove him crazy. Mitchell moaned and arched his back as Anders pressed their groins together, their bodies slippery with sweat as they writhed together.

"Oh my god," he moaned, his voice low when Anders pulled his hair and gripped both their dicks together as he started thrusting. After a week of pain and constant discomfort Mitchell didn't think that he could feel any better than he did at that moment.

"Damn straight I'm your god," Anders said into his ear, his voice breathy. He thrust faster and Mitchell moved with him, both their bodies in sync. Mitchell gripped Anders' back, his nails digging into his skin. Anders had one arm wrapped around his head, his hand gripping Mitchell's hair tightly as he kissed Mitchell hard, their tongues battling for dominance. Mitchell felt the heat building in his core and he bit down on Anders' bottom lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but then Anders was coming all over his stomach, and the guttural sound that came out of Anders was enough to send Mitchell over the edge and he came harder than he had in a while.

He was a bit louder than he'd meant to be, and when he came down from his orgasm part of him hoped Ty and Olaf hadn't heard him. The other part couldn't give a shit, because he had Anders back and he'd just had the best orgasm he'd had in a month. Anders let himself lay down on top of Mitchell, his knees straddling Mitchell's hips and his face buried in the crook of Mitchell's neck, kissing it lazily. After a minute he lifted his head and rested his forehead on Mitchell's. Mitchell closed the inch between them and kissed him again.

Anders stood and went to the bathroom. He came back a second later with a towel. He wiped himself down and then handed it to Mitchell when he got back into bed. Mitchell wiped off his stomach and dick before tossing the towel in the general direction of the bathroom.

A little while later they both laid on their backs, shoulders and arms pressed together, one of Anders' legs was draped over Mitchell's. Mitchell could feel himself starting to fall asleep.

"Anders," Mitchell whispered. He received a grunt in reply. "I need to know where I stand with you."

"You mean you want to label whatever it is we are."

"Yes."

Anders sighed quietly and looked over at him. "You are mine. And I'm yours. I only want you."

"I'm clean now," he said, his voice hushed. Half of him was worried Anders wouldn't believe him.

"Really?" Mitchell nodded. "For real this time? No more bullshit?"

"I promise." Anders smiled and leaned over to press a kiss to Mitchell's lips.

"Good. I'm proud of you."

* * *

**I completely hand wrote the first draft of this story. It filled three moleskin notebooks, and this chapter marks the end of the second notebook. We're racing on towards the end! But don't worry, there's still at least 10,000 words left... Please review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of their creators, nor am I seeking to make a profit from this.**

* * *

Chapter 9

As much as he enjoyed having them visit – and he really did – Anders was glad when Friday came and it was time for them to return to Auckland. Ty and Olaf's plane left at one fifteen, and they were currently sitting around a small round table at a diner close to the airport having brunch. Once again Anders and Ty were sitting back, listening to Mitchell and Olaf talk about old times. He smiled as they both got excited about it.

"We've got to go soon," Ty said finally. Anders checked his watch and saw that it was ten o'clock. They needed to be there inordinately early, and it had been a bitch to get Olaf awake and out the door on time. "Thanks for giving us a ride," he said to Mitchell as they stood to pay the bill.

"Of course, I was happy to! It's been really nice to meet some of Anders' family." Anders' smile faded a bit when he heard Mitchell add, "And I'm really glad that he's reconnecting with you."

_I'm going to call Axl,_ he resolved. _Eventually._ They all piled into Mitchell's car and headed for the airport. The drive didn't take long, and soon enough they stood outside security.

"Goodbye little brother," Anders said hugging Ty. "It was great seeing you again."

"It's your turn to visit next, okay?" Ty replied. Anders was just barely able to nod in reply before Olaf pulled him in for a bear hug.

"Be careful," he whispered in his ear, and Anders got the sense that Olaf – the oracle – knew something Anders didn't.

But in typical Anders fashion, he didn't dwell on it.

"You had _better_ come visit," Olaf stressed. "Bring Mitchell with you." Anders chuckled and glanced back, Mitchell stood back to give the family time to say their goodbyes. Mitchell gave him a smile.

"Don't worry grandpa, I will."

Ty and Olaf bade Mitchell goodbye, stressing that it was great to meet and spend time with him. They were happy to meet the person his brother spent most of his time with.

When they were through security and out of sight Anders sighed and turned to Mitchell. "So what now?"

"Don't you need to go to work?" They started out of the airport and back towards Mitchell's car.

"Yeah," Anders grumbled. "I miss my company – I was the boss and didn't have to work as much."

"Well, start your own company here?"

"No, that's too much work."

* * *

Monday came too quickly for Mitchell. He and Anders spent nearly the entire weekend holed up in Anders' apartment – a large part of it in bed. But Monday morning came and Mitchell woke as Anders got out of bed. He stretched, his body sore in the best way, and got up as well. They had cereal and coffee together, and kissed goodbye at seven thirty – Anders heading to work, Mitchell heading home.

He didn't see anyone at first as he went to his room to change his clothes, but as he passed the kitchen Herrick called out.

"Mitchell, how nice to see you again. You've been scarce these past two weeks." He sat at the table, a bowl of oatmeal in front of him.

"Yeah, I was. . . dealing with things."

"Why aren't you drinking blood anymore, Mitchell?"

Mitchell felt cold. "How'd you-"

"Oh please Mitchell, do you think I'm stupid?" His voice was eerily pleasant. "I know a blood-starved vampire when I see one."

"I stopped because I don't want to kill people anymore, simple as that."

Herrick smiled and folded his hands in front of him on the table, fingers laced together. Mitchell shifted from one foot to the other, slightly uneasy. "You've been neglecting your recruits," Herrick finally said, his voice chastising. "If you don't guide tem they will get into trouble." Mitchell stared hard at him, and finally conceded the point.

"I'll spend more time with them," he said, and finally tore his eyes away from Herrick and left the hallway to head for his room.

_Damn it,_ he thought, throwing his door shut and pulling his shirt off. As he rummaged around for a clean one – _I really need to do laundry _– his door opened and he whirled around. "Knock! This isn't the living room," he cried. It was one of the newer recruits, a young man maybe a year or two younger than Mitchell when he was recruited.

"Sorry, we're going to get breakfast and we wanted to know if you wanted to come."

"What kind of breakfast?" Mitchell asked suspiciously. He finally found a shirt and pulled it on.

"Blood," he said, giving a smile that only a new vampire still obsessed with blood and killing could give. _Shit, I'd better go. . ._ Mitchell thought, sighing. He nodded, and followed him out, closing his door behind him.

He mentally prepared himself to be around a lot of blood that day, and prayed he would be able to withstand the temptation.

* * *

Anders heard his phone vibrating as he walked out of the bathroom. He frowned, and couldn't remember when he turned the sound off. He quickly walked over to the couch to grab it before it stopped ringing. A small smile spread across his face when he saw it was Mitchell.

"Hey," he said after accepting the call. He leaned his elbows on the back of the couch. "Are you still coming tonight? If you know what I mean," he added under his breath.

Mitchell laughed, but it was short-lived. "About that – I have to cancel."

"You do realize that this is the second time you've canceled this week, right?" It was Thursday, and Mitchell had called on Monday to cancel dinner – and inevitably whatever followed – without an explanation further than he had to work. He had, quite aggressively, made up for it on Tuesday night, but Anders still felt that vague lingering sense of disappointment. He'd never been the one on the receiving end of a canceled date.

"I know, and I'm sorry, my boss is a dick."

"Why can't you tell him you have plans?" Anders knew he sounded a bit like a petulant child, but he couldn't help it. He was horny.

"He doesn't care." Mitchell sighed. "Normally I would just tell him I have other things, but he's not very happy with me right now."

"What'd you do?" Anders moved around so he was sitting on the couch. He propped his feet up on the coffee table.

"I stopped drinking blood and now he's doubting my ability to do my job since I'm 'weak and starved'," Mitchell said softly. Anders felt a flash of guilt for half a second before it completely left him. Ultimately it had been Mitchell's decision to stop.

"Well he needs to get over himself and let you do what you want – namely me."

"You're feisty tonight," Mitchell chuckled.

"You're damn right!"

"Listen, I can come over, just not for dinner. I can probably make it by eleven?" Anders perked up.

"Well fuck dinner, yeah eleven's good," he said, suddenly eager for the night to pass. It was eight o'clock now.

"Okay, I have to go, I'll see you at eleven," Mitchell said, suddenly rushed. Anders frowned slightly.

"Alright, eleven. See you," he barely got out the last sentence before the line disconnected. _Rude_, he thought, standing and going to the kitchen for food and alcohol.

Twenty minutes later he had a sandwich, some crisps, and a glass of vodka. He sat on Mitchell's stool and took a big gulp of his drink before picking up his phone to finally call Axl. Ty was right, it's time. He dialed Axl's number, not really caring to figure out what time it was in New Zealand. Much to his surprise, Axl answered on the second ring.

"Anders?" he said, his voice disbelieving and tired.

"Hello Axl."

"Do you know what time it is here?" He sounded more resigned than angry.

"No, and frankly I don't care. Look, I called to make nice." Axl was silent for a moment.

"Well, I'm really glad you called. I'm sorry about what happened and if I could go back I would."

"Of course you would." The line was silent for a minute, and Anders realized what Axl wanted. "If you're waiting for an apology from me you're not going to get it. I'm not going to apologize for something that was completely and utterly out of my control." There was another moment of silence before Axl heaved a sigh.

"Fine, alright. Whatever, it's way in the past now anyway. So. . . are you coming home now?"

"No," Anders couldn't help but laugh. "You're not the only reason I left, alright?"

"Well, why else did you leave? Come on bro, this family needs you!"

"Now you sound like Mike, gross. Listen, young Padawan, would you stay in an environment that was hostile to you every single day?"

"Well, I am around Michele quite a lot."

"Close, but not quite the same. Just leave it, alright? I like it here."

"What's it like?"

"Cold as fuck, but it was nice when I got here in June. Rains a lot."

"How are the chicks up there?" Anders laughed – this time six months ago he would have raved about all the girls that he got with, but now he was a little disturbed to realize that he didn't really care. . .

_I'm going all domestic. . . _he thought with mild horror. "Oh it's great," he said finally.

"You don't sound that convinced," Axl said, confused. Anders took a deep breath. Axl and the rest of the family were going to learn about Mitchell at some point, thanks to Olaf – or Ty really – so he may well hear about it from the source.

"Well, believe it or not I've actually met someone."

"What? You?"

"Yes me, don't sound so surprised."

"Well what's she like? Gotta be something to tie you down."

"Well actually she's a he, so there's that."

Axl was silent for a moment. "You're joking right?"

"No."

"So you're gay now?"

"Again, no."

"But you just said-"

"I know what I said. Just because I like _one_ man's dick doesn't mean I like others' – I know, I checked."

"Are you fucking with me?"

"For the third time, no. And if you're going to keep being so dense I'm going to hang up."

"Okay, okay, wait. So. . . what's that like?"

"What?"

"You know, being with another dude?"

"It's a lot sweatier, hairier, and a bit painful, depending."

"Okay, that was too much information. . . How'd you meet?"

"He tried to kill me."

"So nothing new then?"

"That's real nice, coming from you Axl."

"I thought we were past that!"

"No, you finally apologized but that doesn't change the fact that _you_ still tried to kill me. But look, I've got to go, it was nice catching up." Axl barely stammered out a goodbye before Anders hung up, suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to not be talking anymore.

He sat on the couch in silence for a moment. He thought he'd care more that Axl had apologized, but he found he really didn't care. _I can't believe that prick wanted _me_ to apologize,_ he thought, shaking his head and reaching for his sandwich.

A while later Anders woke to the sound of the front door closing. He had moved to the couch after eating to watch something to pass the time. He blearily opened his eyes and a sleepy smile spread over his face when he saw Mitchell taking off his jacket and boots. Anders sat up.

"Hey," he said as Mitchell walked over to the couch. He straddled Anders' lap, his knees on either side of Anders' hips. He captured Anders' mouth in a lazy kiss. They carried on for a while, slowly building the passion. Anders' hands went from his hips slowly around his back and under his shirt, sweeping them up and then dragging his nails down, eliciting a deep moan from Mitchell.

Mitchell sat up for a second and Anders opened his legs wider, hissing into Mitchell's mouth as he reached down and cupped his crotch. They were both breathing heavily, and Mitchell broke away and pressed his forehead against Anders', squeezing harder. Anders moaned, his nails digging harder into Mitchell's back.

"I want you to top," Mitchell said, burying his head into Anders' shoulder, kissing and nipping along his neck.

"Yeah?" he asked breathily, the feeling of Mitchell's teeth on his neck making his heart race in a way he wasn't sure he liked. Mitchell hadn't bitten him since that time, but it still made him wary. He fisted his hand in Mitchell's hair and pulled his head back. Mitchell's eyes were narrowed in his lust and it sent a spike of anticipation straight to Anders' cock.

"Yeah." Anders tightened his grip on Mitchell's hair and pulled him forward to crash their lips together again. This would be the first time Anders had been the giver, and not the receiver; they had never talked about it, Anders just always ended up being the one getting slammed into the bed, and he'd never complained.

Anders thrust his tongue into Mitchell's mouth. The prospect of sticking his dick in Mitchell had him unbelievably hard and eager. He pushed Mitchell down so he could lay on top of him, his cock pressed hard against Mitchell's.

"Let's go to the bedroom," Mitchell said, his own hands threading through Anders' hair and gripping tightly.

"In a bit, kind of busy right now," Anders said between kisses as he started unbuttoning his shirt. Mitchell took the hint and unbuttoned his own flannel shirt, and after they both managed to get them off and keep their lips together they got their pants and underwear off as quickly as they could.

Anders groaned, and ground their cocks together, his forehead pressed against Mitchell's collarbone. "Jesus Christ," he said, and he knew if he didn't stop soon he would come before they could do anything else.

So he ripped himself away, and stood next to the couch, his dick bouncing at the sudden movement. Mitchell stared, his eyebrows raised and his chest heaving.

"Bedroom," Anders said, and as he turned he heart Mitchell scramble to get up. Before he could do anything Mitchell pushed him down onto the bed and climbed on top of him. Without thinking Anders rolled them over and reached for the bedside table. Lube and condom in hand he settled back over Mitchell. He was sitting on Mitchell's thighs, his knees braced against his sides. He ripped the condom open and rolled it on as quick as he could with Mitchell squirming under him. "Would you hold still?" he grumbled as they adjusted so Anders was between Mitchell's legs. He reached for a pillow and thrust it under Mitchell's raised hips. He opened the lube and poured some on his fingers as Mitchell pulled his legs up. Anders spent a while preparing Mitchell, running his unoccupied hand over his chest, tweaking his nipples, and just letting his mouth roam. His hand moved down to fondle Mitchell's balls as he bit and sucked Mitchell's neck, the sounds it pulled from him going straight to Anders' cock.

"I'm ready, get on with it," Mitchell growled. Anders laughed and removed his hands from between Mitchell's legs and went back to his neck, swatting his hand away every time he went for it himself.

"Are you fucking kidding me? If you want me to beg you're going to be disappointed."

"Calm down love, I'm just fucking with you." He pressed a sound kiss to Mitchell's lips before sitting up and bracing one hand on Mitchell's sternum, using the other to hold his cock as he guided it into Mitchell, going as slow as he could.

His own moan was drowned out by the guttural groan that was ripped from Mitchell. "Oh god," he moaned when Anders was all the way in.

"Okay?" Anders said, holding still for a second.

"Oh yeah, move." Mitchell had one hand gripping the sheets and the other gripping Anders' hair. He pulled him down to mash their lips together, but he misjudged his strength and their teeth clashed together. Anders pulled back a moment and they both laughed before going back in, gentler this time. Mitchell captured Anders' bottom lip between his teeth as Anders started slowly thrusting, first only pulling out a little before pushing back in. His breathing becoming more shallow, he sped up a little, and after a few minutes he was pulling almost all the way out and ramming back in, brushing Mitchell's prostate every time. Their moans mingled in a low chorus of grunts and loud huffs of breath.

He sped up again, and Mitchell's nails raked down his back, probably drawing blood, but Anders couldn't tell and didn't care – it felt good. He reached down between them and started roughly jerking Mitchell off as he thrust. Mitchell's moans got more guttural as he got closer to his climax. Anders was close as well, he could feel it building and building, and the sight of Mitchell's face as he came, lost to sensation with his eyes shut and his mouth open, combined with the sharp pain as Mitchell's hands clenched, one in his hair and the other wrapped around his bicep was enough to send him over the edge. He let out a shuddering groan as he gave one last thrust in until he and Mitchell were flush against each other; he squeezed his eyes shut and forgot his own name for a moment. They were still for a while, both coming down from their orgasms and trying to get their breath back. Finally Anders pulled out and stood, pulling the condom off and throwing it away. He went back to the bed and shook Mitchell's foot. "Come on, let's have a shower." Mitchell groaned, but got up and followed Anders to the bathroom.

They showered slowly, both trying not to fall asleep standing up. When they finished cleaning up they toweled off and fell back onto the bed, unconsciously wrapping around each other to ward off the cold. They fell asleep almost instantly, cocooned in Anders' bedspread.

* * *

The next two months passed quietly. Mitchell spent the night at Anders' apartment almost every night, and he continued canceling at least one date night every week – as "date night" generally meant having dinner together, hanging out, and then fucking, it fell nearly every night.

Anders got a call from one of his family members every few weeks. Dawn also called, and her knack for calling when he was completely drunk never failed. She managed to get him to tell her more about Mitchell. "Why can't Ty just tell you about him?" he'd slurred.

"Because he doesn't know him as well as you!"

Mike even called, much to Anders' surprise.

"Are you gay now?" he said, incredulous.

"No, what gave you that idea. Hello to you too."

"Axl said you're with a man now, and you tell me you're not gay?"

"Look Mike, a) I don't have to explain myself to you, b) it's none of your business, and c) so what if I'm sleeping with a man now." Hanging up on his brothers was starting to become one of Anders' favorite things.

The ease with which Anders slipped into this new domestic routine startled him, but only when he really thought about it. He tried not to, however, and merely accepted that this was his life now. And if he were honest, he really liked it.

Anders had always been one for spontaneity, but he also liked routine, and Mitchell coming over every night was something he grew to look forward to every day during work.

So Mitchell's consistent seemingly random, to Anders at least, cancellations were really starting to get on his nerves.

But Mitchell always more than made up for it the next night, and for the moment Anders was placated.

* * *

**I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter. I'm sorry it's so short, and it's more filler than I would have liked. It's mostly set up for what comes next. ****Please enjoy their happiness while you can, it only goes downhill from here.**


	10. Chapter 10

******Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of their creators, nor am I seeking to make a profit from this.**

* * *

Chapter 10

Mitchell was beyond furious. He resisted the urge to throw his phone across the room, and sat down on his bed with a yell that was full of rage.

He'd just received news from Herrick that six of his recruits had been at a werewolf cage fight the night before that went wrong. It was a small one, without more than fifteen vampires watching. The idiot who closed the cage didn't lock it properly, or something, Mitchell really didn't know, and the wolves got out and went after the audience instead of each other. No vampires survived, and when the mangy dogs woke up in their human forms that morning they'd set the place on fire. Siobhan had been there.

Mitchell knew that Herrick played a big part in making the cage fights happen, and though he'd never really approved of them before Mitchell was now extremely thankful, because it meant he knew exactly who those wolves were, and where to find them and their pack so that Mitchell could go rip their heads off.

He was about to storm out the door to go break the news to the others when he remembered that Anders was expecting him. He realized with a pang of regret and anger that he would have to cancel on him _again_, and he loathed it.

* * *

"Hey," Anders said as he answered the phone. He wasn't as enthusiastic as he could have been in greeting Mitchell, but he only called around this time of night if he was going to cancel.

"Hi," Mitchell replied. He sounded off, Anders couldn't quite put his finger on it. "I'm so sorry, but I can't come tonight, something very serious has come up and I have to take care of it."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, but I _have_ to go. But tomorrow's Saturday so you don't have to work. I'll make it up to you. We can go to Pete's, we haven't been in a while." A while meaning three days.

"Damn right you'll make it up to me." Anders felt a bit put out. He'd been looking forward to going to Pete's tonight, and then to the cinema. Mitchell had been badgering him to go see Casablanca at the old film theater across town because he was in it – "Well, you can't see me of course, but I knocked over a chair."

"Alright, go do your thing. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'm sorry Anders, I'll call you tomorrow, I promise."

"Yeah, whatever," he said, trying to sound unaffected. He hung up and put the phone back in his pocket.

"Now what?" he muttered, but before he could think too hard about what he could do he went for his vodka.

Three hours later he was passed out, drunk, face down on his bed, the TV still on in the living room, and his clothes littering the floor around his room.

* * *

After Mitchell hung up with Anders, feeling distinctly miserable about everything, he went to the funeral parlor, their HQ, and broke the news to everyone there.

"I'm going to get them. Who's coming with me?"

Soon Mitchell and about fifteen other vampires were on their way to wipe out the werewolves responsible for the death of their brothers and sisters.

Two hours later, Mitchell stood in the middle of the carnage of what once was a pack of werewolves. There had been six of them, but Mitchell and the vampires with them had both surprise and numbers on their side. Not to mention the fact that in their human forms the bastards were practically defenseless. It was almost too easy to kill them all, but nevertheless Mitchell felt better – though only marginally. He hadn't killed anyone in over two months, but these were werewolves. They barely counted.

He looked down at himself in disdain. He was covered in werewolf blood, and all he wanted was to go home and shower all the filth off.

"What are we going to do with the bodies?" someone asked from behind him. "Burn 'em?"

"No," he said, turning and facing the group. Most were bloodied, but all survived with minimal damage. "Leave them. It'll send a message to any other pack." Any pack this big had to know the other wolves in the city and around it, there was no way they could all stay hidden. He started to leave and everyone fell into step behind him.

The next morning Mitchell sat at the table in the kitchen, the newspaper spread out in front of him. There was a story on the front page about a group of six who were slaughtered in their home. His face was grim, and he wished he hadn't had to do what he did. But the werewolves needed to know who was in charge, and Mitchell was fairly certain he'd gotten his point across.

* * *

Anders paced the length of his living room. It was seven forty-five, and Mitchell was due to arrive any minute.

He had just finished watching the news, bored, and not expecting to see anything good. He was surprised to see, however, that the top story was the murder of six people that had happened the night before. Four men and two women – all in their twenties and thirties – were practically torn apart.

At first he thought that it was just some horrible thing that happened, he could just move on and not give it much thought.

But then a thought occurred to him and his heart sank, the weight of the thought settling around him and suffocating him. _What was Mitchell doing last night?_ He said he had 'work' but Anders really had no clue what work was for him.

And it wouldn't be the first time he'd lied to Anders about not killing anymore.

Anders stopped pacing, and a pang of disappointment mingled with sadness went through him. _I trusted him_.

Suddenly it was the only plausible thing that could have happened. Of course if six people were so brutally killed the only suspects could be vampires. It couldn't have been only Mitchell, but Anders had no doubt that he'd been there.

Roiling anger built in his gut. _What if every time he's canceled on me he's been out killing people? Has he been lying to me this entire time?_

Anders turned sharply when he heard the door open.

"Hey," Mitchell said. He looked happy, and it only made Anders angrier. Mitchell crossed over to him and kissed him, but Anders stayed stiff and didn't reciprocate. Mitchell pulled back, immediately sensing something wrong. "Is everything okay?" he asked warily.

"Why'd you do it?" Anders asked.

"Do what?"

"Kill all those people last night. I know that was you and your vampires."

"Anders, no I-"

"Stop talking." His anger amplified his power and Mitchell's mouth snapped shut, his eyes wide in alarm. "I thought that was behind us! I thought you'd stopped, you _told me_ you stopped. How long has this been going on? Ever since London? Did you _ever_ try to stop?" Mitchell, now looking distinctly upset, opened his mouth once again, but Bragi repeated his command. "No, I don't want to hear any more lies from you. We're done, get out of my house." Mitchell's eyes widened, and it seemed like he no longer had control over his limbs as he left Anders' apartment without a word.

Anger still coursing through him, Anders paced furiously around the living room. After about ten minutes he knew Mitchell would be long gone. He put on his shoes and a light jacket and stormed out, heading straight for Pete's. It was March, and still fairly cool outside, but Anders' anger burned hot in him and he didn't feel the cold at all.

He got very drunk, and when a vaguely concerned Pete cut him off, Anders went home and drank some more. He drank so much that he threw it all up for the first time in years. He fell asleep with his cheek on the toilet seat, curled around the bowl.

* * *

Mitchell drove around town aimlessly for a while. He was in shock, still trying to process what happened. Not only had Anders used his power on him, but he kicked him out of his house, unintentionally using a very old and very stupid – in Mitchell's opinion – vampire deterrent. Just as they must be invited into a mortal's home, they can be forced to leave; and now Mitchell was prevented from entering Anders' apartment unless he was invited in again.

_But why would I want to go back? That asshole! If he'd just let me explain. . ._ Mitchell thought. He was angry, and hurt, and upset, and he needed a drink. He stopped at the first bar he came across and went inside. It was busy, but he found a seat at the bar and ordered a beer.

Three beers later Mitchell heard his name called behind him. He turned to see a young blonde woman, whom he recognized as one of the young recruits – one of the ones who'd fawned over him. "Hey," she said, taking the, inconveniently, unoccupied seat next to his.

"Hey. . ." he trailed off awkwardly, realizing he didn't know her name.

"Tanya," she supplied with a smile, and Mitchell wanted to laugh when he realized she was putting as much sex appeal into her body language and the look she was giving him. Sex was the last thing Mitchell wanted at that moment.

"Hey Tanya, how are you doing?"

"I'm great, how are you?"

"Pretty shitty, actually."

"Oh no! Is there something I can do to help?" Mitchell couldn't help but think how pathetic she looked; over eager and desperate were not attractive qualities on anyone.

"I don't think so, I just want to get drunk."

"Well I can help with that!" Tanya said, turning from Mitchell to the bartender as he passed. "Shots!" she said enthusiastically, and the bartender looked over at Mitchell and winked, obviously thinking that Tanya was a catch that Mitchell was lucky to have. He wanted to just get up and leave, but as soon as the vodka shot was placed in front of him Mitchell couldn't help himself from throwing it back and not protesting when Tanya ordered more.

An hour later Mitchell was quite drunk. Some of his anger had dissipated, and he was left with the sadness that permeated his core. He absently swatted Tanya's hand away when she started rubbing his thigh. She whined and Mitchell winced at the annoying sound as she pulled her hand back.

"What's wrong with you? Usually I have to fight guys off!"

"My boyfriend just broke up with me," he said, tired of her. He downed the rest of his drink – he'd long ago lost count of how many he'd had – and signaled the bartender for another.

"I'm so sorry!" she cried, putting her hand back on his thigh. Mitchell thought the intent was different this time, but then again he really wasn't thinking straight at all. Why did he tell her about Anders? Was Anders his boyfriend? _Well if he was he's not anymore. . ._ "What happened?"

"A misunderstanding," he said, his words starting to slur a bit.

"That's really shitty." Mitchell noted that she seemed very sober – at least compared to him. He hoped he wouldn't do anything he'd regret; at this point he'd pretty much lost all self-control. She said something else but Mitchell wasn't paying attention.

"What?"

"I said who needs a dumb boy anyway! They're a stupid vampire for breaking up with you."

"He's not a vampire," Mitchell chuckled, thinking that if Anders was a vampire this whole situation could have been avoided, and they could still be happy together.

"Well then that's even worse, stupid humans."

"He's not even human," he blurted without thinking. "He's a Norse god!"

The _moment_ the words left his mouth the blood drained from Mitchell's face, and he realized that he'd fucked up. He looked at Tanya, who looked confused, and hastily excused himself. He paid for his drinks, his hands fumbling and shaking, not caring that he'd handed over way too much money before leaving. Tanya sat on the barstool, her face baffled, for a few seconds before pulling out her phone and sending a text.

He drove home, which he knew was a terrible idea even in his inebriated state, and managed to get home without crashing his car and killing himself. He collapsed on his bed, intending to sleep for at least two days.

* * *

Sunday passed in a blur, and as soon as the bar opened for lunch Anders was there, intent on spending the night the same as he had the previous night: too drunk to think. He left his phone at home so that no calls or texts from anyone could bother him and left with only his wallet and keys.

He drank, and when Pete finally cut him off again, his face even more concerned than the last night, Anders started stumbling home. When he passed the alley where he first saw Mitchell he stopped.

He didn't know why, but he _missed_ Mitchell, more than he thought he would. But he shook his head, steeled himself and turned to go home.

But there was someone blocking his path. A blond man about Anders' height. Anders tried to walk around him, but there were more men behind him.

"Look, you can have my wallet, okay? I don't want any trouble," he slurred.

"Oh no, we want something much more valuable than your money." And he pulled out some kind of blunt object and swung it towards Anders' head.

The last thing he remembered before he passed out was a sudden searing pain in his head, and then nothing.

* * *

**Fasten your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy ride... Please let me know what you think! Also as of now there are four chapters left plus the epilogue...**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of their creators, nor am I seeking to make a profit from this.**

**Another short chapter, sorry. Please review!**

* * *

Chapter 11

Anders woke up in a dimly lit room. It was dirty, and he was sprawled over a very uncomfortable bed. His head was pounding, and he was still drunk, so not much time had passed. He tried to sit up, but his head started spinning and his stomach turned. He lurched to the side just in time to retch over the side of the bed. He completely emptied his stomach and then slumped back down, his arm pinned under his side at an awkward angle and his head hanging over the edge.

He must have passed out again, because when he woke there was a bucket next to the bed and the sick had been cleaned up off the concrete floor. His head still throbbed, but his stomach felt fine. He wasn't drunk anymore, and he was able to sit up this time and really look around. There were no windows, and there were two doors. The one to his left was closed, and the one to his right was opened to reveal a very small room that looked like it only contained a toilet. He assumed the first door was the exit, and Anders would have bet money that it was locked, so he didn't even get up to try it. Anders looked back at the toilet, and was struck with how much he needed to pee. He stood, his legs shaky, and walked over to the corner. Once he'd relieved himself he went and sat back down on the bed, kicking the bucket away. He felt his pockets, but his wallet and keys were gone.

_Who the hell-_ His thought was interrupted by the door clicking as it was unlocked, and then opened. He stood abruptly as five people entered the room, led by the blond man that bashed Anders' head.

"Hello," the man said, his voice pleasant. Chills went down Anders' spine, and he took a step back.

"Who are you and what do you want with me?" he said, his voice steady – steadier than he felt, at least.

"My name is William Herrick, and I'm just here to teach my recruits something I learned many years ago." He turned to the four people behind him. "This is a god," he gestured to Anders, and Anders' eyes went wide with shock and fear shot through him. "Not many know this, but in small quantities god blood is more amazing than you could ever imagine. But you have to be careful, because if you have too much it acts as a powerful hallucinogenic, and it's never fun. His blood with sustain you longer and make you stronger than human blood. So, who wants to go first?" He clapped his hands together with a smile on his face.

Anders was starting to panic. _How the fuck did they find me!?_ They had him isolated, locked in a room intent on using him as a blood fountain for an indefinite amount of time – and there was nothing he could do about it. They were blocking the door, and there were more of them, and they were stronger.

He did the only thing he could do, which was back up so he was against the wall, staring at them wide-eyed.

"Tom, why don't you go?" Herrick said, and they all approached. Anders lashed out, trying to get away when two of them grabbed him, but it was useless. They held him still, and Tom held his head to the side with one hand as his teeth tore into Anders' neck. It hurt significantly more than when Mitchell had bitten him, and he couldn't help the cry that escaped him.

"Stop!" Herrick called after what felt like an hour, but was only about ten seconds. Tom ripped himself up and stumbled away, a euphoric smile plastered on his face.

"Oh my god, you guys gotta try this," he slurred. Anders was beyond fear now, and into full-blown panic. His breathing came in short gasps, and he struggled wildly, but it was in vain. The others held on even tighter, now practically salivating for the blood that was flowing down his neck and soaking his shirt. A woman went next, and by the time the last person went no one even needed to hold him still. They'd probably taken about two pints between them, and Anders was feeling woozy. He slid down the wall, and the woman at his neck went down with him, falling to her knees while still holding his head.

Between the blood loss and the overwhelming fear he felt, Anders was unconscious again before she finished.

When he woke up he was still on the floor, and he felt even worse than when he'd passed out. He wondered how many more vampires fed on him after he passed out. He slowly looked around, and jumped when he saw an older woman – probably in her fifties or sixties – sitting on a chair that hadn't been there before.

"It's alright dear, I'm human, and I'm not going to hurt you." Anders relaxed slightly, but still felt wary. "What's your name?"

"Anders," he said after a moment. She sat up a bit straighter.

"What's your accent, dear?"

"New Zealand."

"Oh dear, you're certainly far from home."

"Well, this has been my home for a year now. But I can tell you that if I make it out of here I'll be on the first plane out."

The old woman didn't respond, but the grim look on her face gave Anders the impression that she didn't think he'd make it out. "What's your name?" he asked, not liking the silence.

"Mathilda." She smiled and stood. Anders noticed the large water bottle in her hand for the first time, and hesitantly took it when she offered it to him. "You'll need to drink lots of water to help your body produce more blood. They know you're off limits unless Herrick is here to make sure they don't kill you or drink too much, but I wouldn't put it past them to try something – especially once word gets around what you are. You're their new drug of choice."

Anders was parched, but the stubborn side of him wanted it to take as long as possible for his blood to replenish – just to piss them off. He eyed her, and considered trying to use his power on her, but in his extremely weak state he doubted it would work at all.

"Do you know how they found out what I am?" Anders asked, his head falling back against the wall. He felt incredibly tired.

"I think it was John," she said. "Drink the water, dear. You'll feel better."

_Who the hell is John. . ._ he thought irritably.

"Am I going to meet this John?"

"Probably not, he's been acting strange the past few months."

"Strange how?"

"Well, he's one of the few vampires who doesn't drink blood. He stopped very abruptly a few months ago, and as far as I know he hasn't touched it since."

Anders sat up, suddenly alert. "What's John's last name?" _It can't be. . . but there can't be many that gave up blood besides him. . ._

"Mitchell, John Mitchell. Lovely boy, that one."

Anders suddenly felt sick again. Mitchell _had_ been clean, and Anders had broken his own asshole record. _Oh my god what have I done? Why did Mitchell tell? Well, why not, I kicked him out over a misunderstanding. What the fuck is wrong with me?!_ He looked down at his shaking hands.

"Drink the water," Mathilda gently prompted. Anders grabbed the bottle, opened it and put it to his lips. He gulped it faster than he should and choked on it, coughing and spilling it down his shirt and on his lap. He groaned between coughs.

"Slow down," Mathilda chided, and Anders shot her a weak glare.

"Yeah, I got it." She pursed her lips and stayed silent. Anders drank more water, slowly this time, and put it down when he felt marginally less dehydrated.

After a few moments Mathilda stood and walked over to him. She crouched down and put a hand on his shoulder, her other lightly gripped his chin and tilted his head to the side. She gently brushed the wound on his neck. Anders flinched; it was only two small puncture marks on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, but they still ached. When she pulled her fingers back they had blood on them. She tsked and shook her head. She stood, crossed to the door and left. Anders frowned wondering if she'd be back. But she was back a moment later with a small bag in her hand. He guessed it was first aid.

She knelt before him again and pulled out the things she needed to bandage his neck. "The last thing you want is an infection," she said with a smile that Anders felt disinclined to return. He managed to grit his teeth and stay silent when she disinfected it, though it burned. She used some of his water to wet a rag and wipe the dried blood off of him, and then bandaged his neck. When she was done she helped him stand and walk to the bed. He sat heavily, the bed's squeaking loud in the otherwise silent room.

"You'll want to get some rest," she said, giving him a smile and then she turned to leave the room.

When she was gone some of the panic Anders had felt earlier crept back. His hand shot up and covered the bandage and all he could do was wonder how long they were going to keep him there. Until he died? _I'll be damned if I become a fucking vampire juice bar._

He was too angry to sleep, but he felt bone-tired, and there was nothing else to do so he laid down, trying to will himself back home – whether his home in Bristol or back in New Zealand he didn't know.

Whatever he did, he tried his best to not think about how much he hated himself at that moment. _Fucking self-fulfilled prophecy. I thought I would screw it up, so I did. Why didn't I just let him speak?_

Eventually his exhaustion won out over his anger, and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

It was incredibly hard to tell how much time had passed since he'd woken up in this room. Mathilda came in at regular intervals to bring him food – usually a sandwich or something equally simple – and give him more water.

He finally asked her how long it had been one time she came in, and she told him he'd been there for four days. It may as well have been four years for how bored he was. Once the fear went away a little all he could do was sleep and think. And worry.

He had no idea when they'd be back, or how many of them would come. He also thought about Mitchell a lot more than he wanted to. Did he know Anders was here? Did he know they'd come for Anders when Mitchell told them he was a god? And if he did know, would he come?

Anders had no idea, and thinking about it only upset him, even though he couldn't stop the thoughts from coming.

He was thankful for Mathilda. She changed his bandage once, and brought him a book to read, though he didn't touch it. He was too anxious to read. She never stayed to talk, though, which only added to his boredom. A week passed and Anders' only company was Mathilda's visits.

Anders woke suddenly when the door opened. He sat up quickly, eyes wide and scrambled back so his back was against the wall and his knees pressed to his chest. Herrick entered, followed by seven vampires Anders had never seen before.

Herrick gave the same spiel to them, and Anders was once again held down as one by one they fed on him. Even though this time he knew what to expect it still hurt like hell when the first one jerked his head over so they could have access to the other side of his neck. Once again he couldn't help the scream that ripped out of his throat as the vampire's teeth tore into his skin. And this time, just as the last time, Anders was unconscious before the last vampire could finish.

This continued for two months, with a week and a half between each feeding. Anders slept a lot, and when he was awake he had no energy to do more than eat a little food and drink water – let alone try to escape. The time he wasn't eating, drinking, sleeping, or shuffling to and from the toilet was spent sitting or laying on the bed, staring into space and wondering when rescue or death would come, and whichever came first Anders would welcome it.

Every time he fell asleep he hoped he wouldn't wake up, so this torture would end.


	12. Chapter 12

******Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of their creators, nor am I seeking to make a profit from this.**

**Please enjoy this, the penultimate chapter of _God's Blood_.**

* * *

Chapter 12

Two months after Anders broke up with him, Mitchell felt marginally better about it all. He was still vaguely pissed at Anders for jumping to conclusions, but he felt like he could move on. He just needed a few more weeks. That didn't stop him from missing the git, though.

He steered clear of the funeral parlor mostly, and spent his time with his recruits, trying to tame them a little. One of them, a young woman named Sara, decided she wanted to stop drinking blood as well. She'd never liked killing, even when she was a brand new vampire. Mitchell spent three weeks with her staying very close to him, helping her curb her cravings. He gave him a small measure of happiness knowing he'd helped her become happier, because even though she still had the hunger of a new vampire she was now strong enough to resist it, and she was happy because she didn't have to kill.

Mitchell returned home from the pub on night in the beginning of May. Almost two months to the day since he last saw Anders. It was still early in the night, but he hadn't felt like getting too hammered that night. He had a light buzz, but he didn't want to go further.

He went to the living room to turn on the TV, not feeling like doing much of anything. One of the other vampires who lived in the house, Liam, was already there. He was on his back, taking up the entire couch, with his eyes wide and a stupid look on his face.

"What's up with you?" Mitchell asked, annoyed that he was using the whole couch.

"Mate, you have _got_ to try this blood Herrick's got us at the parlor," he said, his words slightly slurred.

"You know I don't drink blood anymore," he said, taking the remote off the coffee table and sat on the old, and fairly uncomfortable, armchair that was next to the couch.

"No, you don't understand, this shit is choice – it's _god_ blood." Mitchell froze, the remote clattering on the hard wood floor. "Yeah, I have no clue where Herrick got him, but it's _fantastic. _I didn't even know gods existed!"

Mitchell shot up and loomed over Liam, one hand bunched in Liam's shirt. He moved so fast that Liam's sluggish and drugged mind couldn't keep up. He started and Mitchell growled at him. "Where is he?"

"Alright, alright mate calm down, I knew you'd want some," he laughed, but stopped when Mitchell shook him, baring his fangs. "He's in the basement of the parlor."

Mitchell was out the door and running the four blocks to the funeral parlor before Liam could finish. He burst through the front door and ran to the back, completely ignoring the woman behind the front desk, and down the stairs. There were several rooms in the basement, and Mitchell checked each one. They were all empty, until he came to one of the last ones down the hall. It was locked, and Mitchell was about to kick it in before he saw the key hanging next to the door. He grabbed it and shoved it into the door, relief sparking through him when it turned without problem. He opened the door slowly, looking around warily. The room was bare, save a chair, a bed, and a small room in the back that contained a toilet.

On the bed Anders was curled into a ball, unconscious and filthy, his shirt stained in blood. He had bandages on both sides of his neck, and he was so pale that Mitchell panicked and thought he might be dead. He quickly crossed over and sat down next to Anders' prone body. He put his hand on his chest, not wanting to touch his neck to check for a pulse, and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt a very slow, gentle rise and fall. _He's alive._

He shook him lightly, trying to rouse him. "Anders, Anders wake up," he repeated, and he shook a little harder. Anders blearily opened his eyes, staring up, unseeing, at Mitchell. Mitchell's hand went to Anders' face. "Hey," he said softly, and finally recognition flickered in his dull eyes and he blinked a few times.

At first he didn't say anything, he just stared, but after a minute he opened his mouth. "You never told me your first name is John," he said, his voice hoarse and quiet. Mitchell couldn't help the laugh that escaped him.

"Yeah, John Mitchell, nice to meet you." Anders started to laugh, but ended up coughing and almost passed out. Mitchell looked around, and noticed a half full water bottle next to the bed. He grabbed it and helped Anders sit up so he could drink.

As Anders slowly drank some water Mitchell's shock at finding him faded and anger replaced it. He took a deep breath, trying to control the sudden fury that raged through him. He watched Anders try to drink, his hands shaking, and when he spilled some down his bloody shirt something snapped in him.

"Can you stand?" he asked, as gently as he could. Anders slowly replaced the bottle's cap and took a deep breath.

"No idea, haven't tried recently."

"When was the last time they fed on you?" he tried to keep his voice from shaking, but it wavered nonetheless.

"Well. . . they came, I passed out. . . you came. So, not long ago I reckon. . ." He sounded beyond exhausted.

"I'm going to get you home." He stood, and took Anders gently under his arm and heaved him to his feet. He wavered, but with Mitchell's arm around his torso and his arm over Mitchell's shoulders he managed to stay on his feet. They made their way slowly out of the room and then down the long hallway out of the basement.

It took a long while to get up the stairs, even with Mitchell nearly carrying Anders. By the time they made it Anders was only half conscious. They passed a few vampires along the upstairs hallway leading to the front, but none said anything – Mitchell's glare was enough to keep them silent.

When they got to the front lobby Anders almost collapsed. Mitchell hefted him up and all but dragged him to one of the chairs in the 'waiting area'. "Anders come on, we're almost outside, I need you to stay with me," he said, his voice almost frantic. Anders jerked his eyes open as his head lolled back, now consciously trying not to pass out.

"Mitchell," he heard behind him. He whirled around to face Herrick. "What are you doing?" There were several vampires behind him, all staring intently at Anders. Mitchell backed up so he was in a defensive position in front of Anders, who didn't seem to realize what was happening.

"How long has he been here?"

"Oh, well I was alerted of his presence in Bristol and acted immediately, so about two months now, I believe. I must thank you for telling Tanya you knew a god, they are so rare these days, especially in these parts. I never thought it would be that little New Zealander you associate with, but a god's a god. They all have the same blood." Mitchell felt sick. He took a deep breath.

"You knew he was my friend, and you took him."

"Well we didn't kill him, did we? Calm down Mitchell, no need to get upset."

"I have every reason to get upset!" Mitchell yelled. He felt Anders grasp the back of his shirt, and he turned and looked into Anders' eyes.

"Let's go," Anders said, his voice faint. Mitchell turned back around and faced Herrick once more.

"I'm done here, with you and this coven."

"You can't just leave Mitchell, you're a vampire. Vampires need a coven."

"Watch me." He turned again and helped Anders to his feet again. He heard Herrick say, "Let him go," to the other vampires, and was glad they didn't try to stop him. He would have gladly fought any one of them, but Anders needed him in that moment. They left the building and Mitchell called a cab. They walked a block away and Mitchell sat Anders down on the curb and stood behind him, letting Anders lean on his legs. The cab arrived a few minutes later and Mitchell helped Anders in and went around to get in on the other side.

"Is he okay?" the cabbie asked. He was an older man, and seemed genuinely concerned.

"I'm fine," Anders said.

"The hospital please."

"No, home," Anders said, his voice soft but adamant. "Please." Mitchell sighed and told the cabbie Anders' address.

Twenty minutes later they were back at Anders' place. Anders' keys had been taken from him, so Mitchell got ready to break in, but Anders stopped him. "My window. . . unlocked. . . fire escape. . ." He seemed close to unconsciousness again, and Mitchell carefully sat him down on the stoop.

"You have to invite me in again," he said, squatting next to him.

"Won't you please enter my home Mr Vampire," Anders said, and Mitchell laughed. "Shut up." Mitchell went around the building and opened the window, climbed in, and hurried through the small apartment to open the front door.

Instead of going through the trouble of trying to help Anders, who was barely conscious and paler than Mitchell ever wanted to see him, stand and walk Mitchell picked him up and carried him to his bed. As soon as he set him down Anders lost the tiny shred of consciousness he'd been hanging on to, and he was out cold. Mitchell stared at him, feeling guilty and helpless and upset. He went to Anders' wardrobe and pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts and went about the task of taking Anders' dirty clothes off and putting on the clean ones. He smelled, and more than likely hadn't showered the entire time he was held captive; his hair was a mess and so greasy it had to be uncomfortable. He couldn't take a shower until he regained consciousness, so when he had him in the clean clothes Mitchell turned and left the room, unable to stand it any more.

He paced the living room and despaired the fact that there was literally nothing he could do. He couldn't turn Herrick into the police for kidnapping and torture, and he couldn't erase the past two months of suffering Anders had been through. Who knows how badly he'd been affected? He checked the clock. It was a pit past half nine in the evening. He guessed Anders would be asleep for a while.

He went back and stood in the doorway, watching him sleep. He noticed for the first time just how thin he'd become. He looked extremely frail, and the beard that had grown in the two months he'd been gone was patchy and thin. He slid down the doorframe until he was sitting with his knees to his chest.

He fell into a very light sleep that was interrupted when he heard the bed squeak. His head shot up ad he stood quickly when he saw Anders try to sit up. He looked slightly more alert, and Mitchell stopped halfway between the door and the bed in case Anders was coherent enough to realize that he should hate Mitchell and tell him to get out again.

Anders simply stared at him for a minute. He took several deep breaths before he gestured for Mitchell to come closer. He finished crossing to the bed and sat on the edge, next to Anders.

Anders wouldn't meet his eye and Mitchell braced himself for anger. Instead Anders reached over and weakly pulled Mitchell into his arms. After a stunned second Mitchell wrapped his arms tightly around Anders. Anders' face was pressed against his chest. Mitchell just barely heard his voice, it was so muffled.

"I'm sorry."

Mitchell wanted to question it, but instead he just said, "_I'm _sorry." A small spark of hope ignited in him, and he wondered if they would really be okay this time.

They stayed wrapped in each other's arms for a long while. Eventually Anders pulled back.

"I need a shower," he said, and Mitchell chuckled and nodded.

"You smell, mate." Anders smacked his shoulder and stood shakily. Mitchell walked with him, ready to catch him if he fell. Anders undressed and got into the shower, almost falling over, he reached to steady him, and Anders swatted him away. "I've got it!" So Mitchell sat down on the toilet to wait until he was done.

Halfway through scrubbing his body Anders got dizzy, and nearly fell again. Mitchell shot up and stepped in the shower to help him sit down. Without a word he turned off the water and helped Anders finish scrubbing himself clean. He pulled off the now wet bandages on his neck and winced at the sight of five different sets of puncture wounds on his neck and shoulders. He quelled the spike of anger that shot through him when Anders just shook his head. He cleaned around them, trying to stay clear of the newest set, which hadn't even scabbed over yet. He'd re-bandage it when they were finished.

He soaped up Anders' hair and helped him stand so he could turn the water back on and rinse him off. Anders shaved his beard, slowly, and looked a little more like himself without the scraggly blond mop of hair on his face.

A few minutes later Anders was dried, and dressed in a different t-shirt and sweatpants. It was a relatively warm day in the beginning of May, but Anders was cold nonetheless. He went and sat on the edge of his bed.

"You don't have any first aid supplies, do you?" Mitchell asked, going back in the bathroom to gather Anders' old clothes to put in the hamper.

"I have some big plasters in the cabinet under the sink," Anders replied wearily. Mitchell got two and returned to the bedroom. He knelt in front of Anders so he could reach his neck easily. "Hey, while you're down there. . ." Anders said, trailing off with a small chuckle. Mitchell stopped and gave him a look. He thought Anders was joking, but with him it was hard to tell sometimes.

"I don't think you have enough blood in you right now to fill it."

"Because it's massive, right?"

"Of course." Mitchell bandaged the two newest bite marks and stood.

"How the hell do I have electricity and water? I was gone for two months – couldn't pay my bills."

Mitchell looked down, feeling ashamed that he knew the answer to that question. "It's something Herrick does when they take someone and don't want anyone to know they're gone. He paid your bills, and called your job and told them that you had to leave for some reason – probably that you had to go back to New Zealand indefinitely for something. Family emergency, that's the one he usually uses."

Anders didn't say anything for a moment, but then he laughed, and said, "Two months rent and utilities for free."

"That's one way of looking at it."

"Could you get my phone?" Anders asked, pointing towards the living room.

"You lost your keys and wallet but not your phone?"

"Thankfully I left it here that night I went out, I didn't want anyone to bother me while I got shitfaced." Mitchell nodded and left the room. Sure enough it was sitting on the counter in the kitchen. He tried tot urn it on, but after sitting for two months it had died. He took the liberty of checking the fridge, but there wasn't much in there.

"It's dead," he said, re-entering Anders' room and handing him the phone. "Are you hungry?"

"No," Anders said, standing slowly and walking around to where his phone charger rested next to the bed. "I'm just tired." He sat back down and looked up at Mitchell. "I was an idiot."

"It's okay, it's all in the past."

"I know you're clean, and that you have been ever since London."

"I'm glad. I'm sorry I told them what you are."

"Yeah that sucked, I wish you hadn't done that. But if I hadn't jumped to conclusions and kicked you out you probably wouldn't have done that."

"If it makes any difference I was _really_ drunk that night. I don't remember most of what I said."

Anders laughed. "Like I said before, I try not to judge drunken mistakes, as I tend to make them a lot. What are you going to do now? Since you're not going back?"

Mitchell sat down next to him. "I don't know."

"Stay here." He looked over to Anders. The change in him was startling, and Mitchell's eyes softened. He nodded.

* * *

Anders went to sleep after that, and he slept for a long time, very happy to be back in his own bed. He was in and out of sleep for a day and a half, and when he finally woke up for good it was one in the afternoon, and he was starving. He looked over at his bedside table and picked up his phone, now fully charged. He turned it on, and once it was on and finished loading everything he'd missed his eyebrows shot up. He had twenty-seven texts, fifteen missed calls, and forty-eight emails. He went through the texts first. Most were from Ty or Dawn, and the newest one was from three days ago. The last call was from Ty, and it was yesterday. He sighed, and figured he should get this out of the way. He called his brother.

"Anders what the fuck?" Ty's voice rang out into his ear.

"Hey Ty, sorry it's been a while."

"You completely ignore everyone for two months and then you just say 'sorry it's been a while?'"

"I was a bit tied up."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, technically I guess I got kidnapped."

"Anders what the fuck?" Ty repeated, though this time more distressed than angry. "What happened?"

"I was grabbed outside Pete's one night and held in someone's basement for two months. Just rescued a few days ago, I don't really want to go much further into it. Still fresh, you understand." He tried to sound unaffected, but honestly he was afraid that if he thought too hard about it he would start hyperventilating. He'd never been so terrified in his life, and reliving it was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Oh my god Anders, are you alright?"

"I'm fine now, don't worry." Mitchell must have heard him talking, and he appeared in the doorway. Anders smiled, and noticed he was in different clothes than when last he saw him. "I'll talk to you later, I'm starving and I need to go eat something."

"Okay, call me later, please."

"Bye Ty." He hung up his phone and stood. "I'm going to get a call from Dawn soon, I'm guessing. Wonderful."

"Welcome back," Mitchell said, kissing the side of Anders' head as he passed, and then followed him into the kitchen. "How do you feel?" He went to sit on his stool.

"Human again. And starved."

Mitchell gestured for him to sit as he stood again and went around into the kitchen. "I went grocery shopping yesterday after I got my things and my car. Lucky I don't have much shit. I did take the liberty of doing my laundry here." Anders looked behind him and saw a few bags sitting against the wall. "What would you like?"

"Turkey sandwich?" Mitchell nodded and went about making two of them. Soon they sat side-by-side eating lunch.

Anders couldn't help the overwhelming feeling of relief at being home that washed over him, and he went to take a deep, unburdened breath. As soon as he breathed in, however, he dissolved into a coughing fit. "Dammit," he choked out, and Mitchell went to get him a glass of water.

"Alright?"

Anders took the glass and downed half of it. He nodded, his eyes squeezed shut. "Yeah, just a tickle in my throat."

Over the next week things slowly went back to some semblance of normality. Anders still felt incredibly fatigued, but other than that he started to feel better. Though, the tickle in this throat didn't go away. It was more annoying than worrisome, however.

Somehow Mitchell managed to get his keys and wallet back, for which he was very grateful. He called his boss and told him that he'd be ready to come back to work the next week, which gave him the rest of that week to finish recovering.

* * *

A week later Anders' throat tickle got worse, and he coughed more often. Mitchell first noticed it when every laugh turned into a hacking cough. He would wake up with a throat ache because he coughed so much in his sleep.

"Anders, maybe you should go to the hospital," Mitchell said one night. They'd been in the middle of dinner when Anders was suddenly thrown into a coughing fit. Despite his continued recovery he still looked and felt tired all the time, and he was still so pale. He could barely make it through a day of work, and when he got home he had only enough energy to eat something and then fall asleep with his head on Mitchell's lap on the couch.

"I'm. . . fine," he said between coughs. Mitchell decided not to push, not wanting to irritate him.

It wasn't until two nights later when Mitchell woke up and Anders was sitting up, coughing and groaning. Mitchell sat up and put his hand on Anders' back. He coughed so hard he gagged, and Mitchell braced his shoulder. He was shocked by how hot his skin was. He put the back on his hand on Anders' face and a shot of dread filled him when he realized that Anders probably had a fever.

"Anders-"

"I know. . ." he interrupted. "Fuck!"

Mitchell quickly got up and got dressed. He grabbed some shorts and a t-shirt for Anders. Anders dressed and they got in Mitchell's car to go to the hospital.

By the time they got there Anders had stopped coughing, but there was a wheeze that accompanied every breath. Mitchell parked and they made their way in. It was about three am, so there weren't many people, thankfully.

However that didn't mean they wouldn't have to wait. Anders had to fill out a stack of forms, and then they were taken to another room where they waited for another two hours.

"Why did you make me come here?" Anders groaned from his position curled up on the exam bed. He was coughing intermittently, and the wheeze was still there.

Finally a nurse came in and took some of his blood to run tests. She also did a basic exam – "Just checking everything," she said, a smile a bit too cheery for Mitchell's taste on her face. She took Anders to get his chest scanned, and then brought him back twenty minutes later. She left again, and Anders fell asleep. Mitchell was also exhausted, but he was too worried to sleep – not in A&E.

* * *

Six hours later they returned home. Anders went straight back to bed, the strong cough meds they gave him kicking in. Mitchell collapsed on the couch, happy that with his coughing under control he'd be able to get a good night's sleep.

Though that was about the only good feeling he had at that moment. The doctors finally came in, three hours after the initial tests, and told them what was wrong. Anders had relatively mild pneumonia – so they prescribed him some antibiotics, and with a lot of rest Anders would get better.

Except that wasn't the only thing that was wrong with him, and pneumonia was only a symptom of the larger problem.

Anders was dying.

* * *

_The doctor finished his speech about pneumonia and looked down at his clipboard._

"_Mr Johnson, have you been to Saudi Arabia or Jordan recently?" Anders shook his head, bewildered. _

"_No, I've never been anywhere near there."_

"_Then you must have come into contact with someone who has." He stopped, and took a deep breath. "You have something called MERS coronavirus." Mitchell had no idea what that was, but that didn't stop the sinking feeling in his gut. Anders just looked confused. "It's a respiratory disease that's slowly becoming more prevalent. It's what caused your pneumonia, and unfortunately. . . it is fatal. And at present there is no cure. The most we can do is treat the symptoms."_

_Mitchell had to resist the urge to snap the doctor's neck, especially when he glanced over at Anders and saw his dumbstruck look. His mouth hung open a little, and his eyes had glazed over. _

"_How long?" Mitchell finally ground out when it became apparent that Anders couldn't speak. The doctor directed his gaze at Mitchell. To his credit he did look genuinely sad about this news. _

"_It can take as little as a month and as long as seven, in some cases."_

_The doctor told them what to do to help the symptoms and asked if Anders wanted to speak to a counselor. Anders shook his head and the doctor wrote him a prescription for some strong pain meds and then left. A few minutes later a nurse came in and gave them some more paperwork and told them they were free to go, if they could just drop off the paperwork at the front desk on their way out._

_They stopped at a pharmacy and filled the prescriptions, and then went home._

* * *

Mitchell sat on the couch for a long time, numb, not thinking about anything except, _Anders is dying, and it's all my fault._

The longer he sat the more miserable and angry he felt. Angry with Herrick, and angry with himself for making the _stupid_ mistake of telling Tanya what Anders was. He sniffed and was surprised when he reached up and his face was wet. He wondered how long he'd been crying.

He heard a noise and he looked up to see Anders emerging from his room. He expected a sarcastic remark about how Mitchell shouldn't be crying because he wasn't the one who was dying, but Anders didn't say anything. He sat heavily next to Mitchell.

"I'm so sorry Anders," he said when he couldn't take it anymore. "It's all my fault, if I hadn't been such an idiot you wouldn't be in this mess. . ."

Anders stared at him and shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "And you wouldn't have told if I hadn't been an ass, and I wouldn't have been an ass if you had just told me what was going on that night when you called to cancel, the blame goes back and forth and back and forth. It doesn't matter anymore."

"I can turn you-" he started to say, but Anders sighed.

"Don't be stupid. A vampire god? The world's not ready for that."

"What are you going to do?" Mitchell asked quietly after a minute. Anders considered this, and Mitchell noticed the bags under his eyes. He probably didn't sleep.

"I'm going to go back home." Mitchell noted that this was the first time he'd heard Anders refer to New Zealand as 'home' in the entire time he'd known him. "I'll inflict myself upon my family one last time." Mitchell chuckled sadly.

But then it sunk in that when Anders left, Mitchell would never see him again. His face fell.

"Oh don't look so miserable. You're coming with me."

"You still want me around after what I did?"

"Yes, you made a stupid asshole mistake, and you should feel bad. But there's nothing we can do about that now." He squeezed Mitchell's thigh reassuringly. "Plus, for once in my life I only want to have sex with one person, so you have to come with. I've never lived celibate, I'm not dying celibate."

Despite himself Mitchell laughed and wiped his eyes.

* * *

**Please review!**

**Also, please note that I have never been to the emergency room in the US, let alone in England so if I got the procedure wrong feel free to take it as artistic license. There is nothing fake about the disease Anders got, however. It will be explained how he got it in the next chapter, so please don't ask. **


	13. Chapter 13 and Epilogue

******Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of their creators, nor am I seeking to make a profit from this.**

**Note: though this story is AU for season 3 of The Almighty Johnsons, I have kept the fact that Mike destroyed Yggdrasil. It was my mistake in that I completely forgot about it while I was writing the story. Also since Michele never used it to heal Anders before he wouldn't have known about its healing abilities, and his family decided not to tell him that there was a way that he _could_ have been saved, but Mike destroyed it. **

**Without further ado, please enjoy the final chapter and the short epilogue. **

* * *

Chapter 13

The next day Anders went to his boss, explained that he was moving back to New Zealand and that he quit. He cleaned out his cubicle, said goodbye to the few friends he had at work and went home. That night he and Mitchell went to Pete's for the last time. Instead of telling Pete and Angie that he was dying, Anders just told them that he was moving back home. Nevertheless Angie cried a little. He was sad to leave her – she was such a sweet girl. Pete gave them a free round and drank one with him. He hadn't really thought until that moment that they had become actual friends, and he really would miss them.

"I'm really going to miss your business, Anders Johnson!" Pete said, toasting them. Anders laughed.

"That's all I'm good for, I guess."

"Now that's a lie and you know it," Pete said, giving him a stern look.

That night Anders and Mitchell lay in bed, Anders on his side – the side being the least conducive to coughing – and Mitchell on his back, his head turned to the side so he could see Anders. He had his eyes closed, but Mitchell knew he was awake.

"So are you going to talk your way out of your lease?"

"That's not very good pillow talk," Anders replied drily. He opened his eyes and stared into Mitchell's. "No, I convinced my landlord to let me sign it over to you. Congrats, you get to stay not homeless." He pat Mitchell on the shoulder.

Mitchell was a bit taken aback. "Really?" Anders nodded and closed his eyes again.

"Tired," he mumbled, and Mitchell was sure that he was asleep only a few seconds later. The rate at which he was deteriorating worried Mitchell. He had hoped Anders would get the seven months, but now it seemed he had much less than that.

But, he reminded himself, Anders is stubborn. He won't die until he's good and ready. He'd said so himself earlier that day.

* * *

The next few days were spent packing Anders' clothes and few possessions he wanted to take with him. On Wednesday they bought two plane tickets to New Zealand for Friday. Mitchell could tell Anders was excited to see his country again, but Mitchell was worried about how Anders would fare on the twenty-seven hour trip. _Hopefully he'll sleep the whole time_, he thought.

Thursday morning Mitchell woke up when Anders got out of bed. He watched him stand and go to the living room, and he quickly got up to follow. He stopped in the doorway and caught Anders' eyes as he sat on one of the stools and dialed a number into his phone. _Good morning_, Anders mouthed, and Mitchell smiled.

"Hey Ty," Anders said. "I'm okay, how are you and Dawn? Great, great. Listen, I'm moving back to Auckland. Yeah, Mitchell's coming with. So listen, I need you to pick us up at four am on Sunday. Thanks bro! I'll see you in a few days." Anders quickly hung up the phone.

"How'd he take that request?"

"He wasn't happy, but then again I didn't expect him to be."

* * *

Friday dawned gloomy, and it was raining when Anders got up and looked out the window. He turned back to his bed and regarded Mitchell. He was asleep on his back with his arms spread out. He had bags under his eyes, and Anders felt a little bad, because he knew his coughing woke Mitchell up as much as it woke him up.

He went to the bathroom, wincing slightly as he walked. His while body ached, and it burned a little when he took a deep breath. Not for the first time Anders thought, _So this is what dying feels like_. . . But even as he thought it, it didn't really register. A part of him didn't really believe that he was dying.

He tried to keep his complaints to a minimum, though, knowing Mitchell's tendency to beat himself up.

After he used the restroom he went back over to the bed. But before he could wake him up Mitchell's eyes opened and caught Anders'. "Morning," he said with a smile. Mitchell returned it and sat up, gesturing for Anders to lean down. He did and they kissed. "Ready to see my country?" Mitchell nodded.

Two hours later they were at the airport. Since it was ten am on a Friday there were a lot of people at the airport, especially since it was the beginning of June and everyone was going on vacation. Anders was annoyed at how long the line was to check-in, and in his annoyance he tried to complain, but only ended up coughing a lot. Despite the fact that he was wearing a mask the hospital had given him he got several dirty looks, and when the older woman in front of him shot him a particularly nasty look after a particularly nasty coughing fit he snapped.

"I am literally dying, can you cut me some slack?" he said harshly. She looked sufficiently cowed, and Anders felt a tiny bit of satisfaction spark through him. He did notice however when the woman in front and the couple behind them took a step back. Mitchell gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his shoulder; it hurt a big, but Anders didn't say anything.

Finally they made it to the front and checked Anders' two bags and Mitchell's duffel bag and got their tickets. Mitchell held both of their backpacks, one on each shoulder.

They followed the crowd to security, and they got in yet another line. Thankfully this one was moving faster, and before they knew it they were at the front. Mitchell put both backpacks on the belt and took out Anders' laptop while Anders took off his jacket and his shoes. He also pulled out his large bag of prescription meds and put them in their own small bin.

He went through first and had no problems, but when he went for their things he saw that Mitchell had been chosen for a "random" search. The TSA agent was a woman, probably a few years older than Anders, and looked like she was enjoying patting Mitchell down a bit too much. Anders laughed when Mitchell gave him a look.

"She had way too much fun doing that," he grumbled when he was finally released. They gathered their things and made their way to their gate to wait for the flight to start boarding.

The next twenty-seven or so hours were a blur of bad airport food, coughing, flights, more coughing, screaming babies, and yet more coughing. Anders was sure that by the time each of their flights landed every single person on the plane hated him. Though, he couldn't care less.

Finally they landed in New Zealand. Anders and Mitchell were exhausted. They'd both slept through most of their flights, but Mitchell had admitted to having a little trouble with his craving – even after almost five months clean. He'd resisted, though, and Anders was proud.

Once they could turn their phones back on Anders texted Ty that they had arrived. He got a reply a moment later that said that Ty was already there waiting.

"He was really surprised when I told I'm coming back," Anders said, leaning his head back. They had decided to wait until the majority of people had disembarked before they got off, so they could take their time.

"It's going to be more of a shock than a surprise. Have you seen yourself lately?" Mitchell asked.

"Yes, and even disease-ridden I look damn good."

"Uh-huh," Mitchell said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with him. He was right, he still looked as handsome as ever, he just had dark circles under his eyes now, and he'd lost a lot of weight. It wasn't so noticeable to Mitchell because he'd been there the whole time, but he knew that for Ty and the rest of Anders' family, who were used to a more-or-less healthy Anders with a bit of a round belly, the difference was going to be startling.

Finally the plane was mostly empty and they stood to slowly get off the plane.

At four am there weren't many people there, so going through customs didn't take long. They got to baggage claim and quickly located their three bags. They finally made it outside and located Ty.

When he saw Anders his smile faded, and concern bloomed across his face. He hugged Anders, but pulled away after a moment and held Anders at arm's length. "What the hell Anders, you look like shit!"

"Well you're not exactly gorgeous yourself," Anders retorted, and Mitchell laughed.

"Hey Mitchell, it's good to see you again," Ty said, smiling, and they shook hands.

"You took."

They loaded their bags in Ty's car and headed for his and Dawn's house.

"But seriously Anders, you've always been a small guy-"

"Watch it."

"But now you're downright tiny. Are you eating? Is he eating?" Ty addressed Mitchell in the back seat and nearly ran them off the road when he saw no one in the rear view mirror. Anders burst into laughter that quickly dissolved into coughs.

"Sorry mate," Mitchell said, trying to hold back his own laughter. "A vampire's reflection can't be captured in a mirror or on film.

"Weird. . ." Ty said, sounding a bit freaked. But he seemed to get over it when he looked back at Anders.

"Yes, I'm eating!" Anders snapped. "Look, I'll tell you the full story when we get to your place."

"Yeah, because Dawn's going to want to know immediately." They pulled up to a house Anders had never seen before and before he could ask Ty answered him. "Colin burned my house down."

"Why?"

"Because I tried to sell it and he threw a fit. I wanted a new start, so I quit my job and was going to sell my house."

"Well that's just stupid," Anders said, coughing again.

"Why are you coughing so much? Are you sick?"

"Yep," Anders said, and he left it at that for the moment.

After Ty parked they got out and Ty and Mitchell went to grab their bags. When they got inside it smelled like bacon, and Anders' mouth started watering. After a day and a half of shitty airport food he was ready for a home cooked meal.

"We're home," Ty called.

"I'm in the kitchen," Dawn said as they approached. She turned with a big smile on her face that immediately turned into a look of alarm. "Oh my god Anders, are you dying?" she said, throwing her arms around him.

"No, no, just got over pneumonia. I'm on the mend."

"Lord, don't scare me like that. Come, eat, you look frail!" Anders followed Dawn, ignoring the meaningful look Mitchell gave him. "Oh my god, where are my manners – you must be Mitchell!" she said, turning back around.

Mitchell gave a warms mile and shook Dawn's hand.

"I'm Dawn."

"Yes, Anders has told me so much about you."

"Oh dear-"

"Only good, I promise!" Mitchell laughed.

"That's a relief."

They sat and ate breakfast, talking about light things. After that Dawn showed Anders and Mitchell the guest room. The excused themselves for a shower and a nap – adding a quick romp before the shower to "break in the guest room," as Anders put it.

Their sex life wasn't nearly as active as before Anders got sick, but that didn't mean they'd stopped, not by any means. Anders just didn't have nearly the stamina he'd had before.

* * *

Mitchell woke first, and put on some clean clothes. When he entered the living room Ty and Dawn were watching a movie. It was about noon.

"Hello! Nice nap?" Dawn asked.

"Oh yeah, thanks." He sat down in the armchair adjacent to the couch Ty and Dawn occupied. He was nervous.

For some reason at the last minute, Anders got cold feet and didn't want to tell them about his condition. So he asked if Mitchell could do it, and Mitchell had a hard time denying Anders anything – especially in this state. So now he sat in front of Ty, ready to tell him his brother was dying.

"I have something I need to talk to you both about," he started, and his tone conveyed the gravity of the matter, because Ty turned the television off. "Anders did just get over pneumonia – well, he's probably still got it – but that's not all he has. He's got a disease called MERS coronavirus. At some point he came into contact with someone who contracted it in the Middle East and brought it back. As far as they know there's not cure. . . and it's fatal." He whispered the last part, and his heart broke at the stunned looks on their faces.

"What?" Dawn managed to say.

"Anders _is_ dying," Ty said. It wasn't a question, and he had a very intense look on his face.

"Oh no," Dawn's hand covered her mouth and muffled her voice. Her eyes glistened. Ty stood and went to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and pulled out a beer.

"Want one?" he said to Mitchell, who nodded. He pulled out another and opened them both. He came back to the living room and handed Mitchell his beer, but he didn't sit back down. "How long have you two known?"

"Only about a week."

"I suppose he wants me to tell the others."

"Yes."

"Well, that's a very Anders thing to do." He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. Mitchell took a sip of his beer, noting how freezing cold it was – much colder than a fridge could make it. It was then that he remembered that Anders told him Ty was the god of cold things. _But I thought he said he wasn't a god anymore. . ._ Mitchell decided not to dwell on it.

"Mike," Ty said. "Anders is back, and he has some big news he needs to share. . . yeah, well you're going to have to hear it from him. Come for dinner? And could you tell Axl and Olaf? Thanks. See you at eight."

Mitchell chuckled. "I'm glad you're going to make him tell them. I'm not quite sure he's even come to terms with it yet himself."

"Well, he needs to not be a baby."

"Who needs to not be a baby?" Anders asked, choosing that moment to enter the living room. He still looked exhausted, despite the nap.

"You," Ty said. "Everyone's coming for dinner and you're going to tell them you're dying."

"So you told then," he said to Mitchell.

"Oh Anders," Dawn said, standing and pulling him into another – painful, by the looks of it – hug. "I'm so sorry."

"I really wish people would stop saying that to me." He glanced at Mitchell. He couldn't help it if he still felt incredibly guilty. Anders put his arms around Dawn. "Come on, don't get all weepy on me now. You're not a pretty crier."

"Anders!" she said, lightly slapping his shoulder as she pulled away.

"I'm glad you came home," Ty said, his face now slightly less intense than before. He still looked angry.

"I'm sorry I'm going to miss your wedding," Anders said quietly, and everyone was silent for a few minutes. Dawn excused herself, tears threatening to spill over.

"Don't worry about it mate."

"Drink lots of alcohol for me, and have a fucking fantastic party. I want everyone to forget that night because they're so drunk."

"I'll make sure that happens."

A little while later Ty decided to make lunch, and he asked Mitchell to join him in the kitchen while Dawn filled Anders in on his company in the living room. "Does this have to do with what happened?" Ty asked, getting straight to the point. Mitchell's chest tightened, and his slightly dulled nerves flared to life again.  
"Yes," he replied, his voice quiet. He sat down at the breakfast table while Ty moved around the kitchen. "The best guess I can make is that one of the vampires that. . . fed on him, also fed on someone who had that disease, and passed it to Anders through his saliva."

"Oh my god. . ." Ty said, putting his elbows on the counter and his head in his hands. "This is insane." His head show up when the front door opened.

"Anders!" Olaf cried when he walked into the living room. Ty and Mitchell walked around out of the kitchen and into the room in time to see Olaf pull Anders into a hug.

"Everybody's hugging me today," Anders said, his voice dry, but resigned.

"Because you're family," Olaf said, ruffling Anders' hair – much to his displeasure. "Mitchell!" Olaf called in greeting. He followed them back into the kitchen. "Okay what the hell is wrong with him? He did not look like that four months ago."

"Anders is sick grandpa." Olaf's face suddenly became very serious – something even Mitchell knew was rare for him.

"I had hoped that vision was just a drug hallucination. Sometimes I hate being an oracle," he said as he sat down opposite Mitchell at the table.

* * *

Anders wasn't looking forward to telling Mike and Axl that he was sick. Not because he thought they'd be sad, but because he was afraid that they wouldn't care. He knew he wasn't their favorite person by any stretch of the imagination. His nervousness caused his breath to speed up a bit, which resulted in more coughing. At this point Anders was extremely tired of the coughing, and the sore throat, and the fatigue. He had absolutely no energy, and he hated it.

Part of him wished he'd just die already.

But another part looked at his family, and at Mitchell, and he wasn't ready to go yet.

He started drinking without really thinking about it, and by the time eight rolled around he was probably a bit more drunk than he should have been to deliver the news that he was dying. He'd always been one of two types of drunks: either he got depressed, or he got happy. This time he was some mix of the two. He'd be happy and then two seconds later he'd remember that he was _dying_ and just want to drink more.

Mitchell finally cut him off, and kept a close eye on him. "Mitchell your mother hen is showing," he said, and Mitchell just shook his head.

Ingrid and Stacey, who arrived only a few minutes after Olaf, sat in the living room with him and Anders and Mitchell.

Axl, Mike, and Michele arrived just after eight, and they all went through the routine again – except this time no one hugged him. Michele was several months pregnant now, and was showing quite a bit.

"You're a whale!" Anders said, and she smacked him upside the head.

They sat down to eat, and when they finished Mike sat back. "So, Anders, what is this news?"

"Yes, yes we are all dying to know," Ingrid said, a smile on her face. Olaf, and Dawn both winced at her choice of words.

Anders glanced at Mitchell, who gave him a small smile and nod. He took a deep breath. "I'm sick," he said. And confusion flashed across everyone's faces. "I have a respiratory disease, and it's going to kill me. Cheers!" He raised his (water) glass and took a long drink. Michele looked like she was about to choke, and she stood, excusing herself for a moment. Mike stood to follow, and neither returned for a few minutes.

No one said anything for a while. Under the table Mitchell put his hand on Anders' thigh and squeezed.

"That really sucks, bro," Axl said finally. "There's nothing they can do?"

"The viral infection I have is incurable, unfortunately for me."

Anders thought it was a bit cliché the next day, but after that they all got pissed and reminisced. It may have been cliché, but Anders found that it was just what he needed.

He broke out his camera and just had fun, finally taking those pictures of his family he'd been wanting, and not thinking about the fact that he didn't have long to enjoy them. Mitchell stole it from him at some point and started taking pictures of him when he wasn't looking, even after he protested that he looked like shit. Mitchell said it didn't matter, and gathered everyone together to take the last picture of the Johnson family in its entirety.

* * *

After that night Anders took a turn for the worst. Everyone noticed he was coughing much more, and he was in constant pain despite all the meds he took.

Notwithstanding that, he tried to be as close to his usual self as possible – constantly on Mike's and Ty's nerves, and making inappropriate comments wherever he possibly could. It was heartening for everyone, but at the same time it made his sharp decline that much more noticeable. No matter how much he tried to hide the bags under his eyes, and the pain, and the coughing, everyone could see as plain as day that he didn't have much time left.

Axl made the mistake one day of pitying him in his state of deteriorating stamina and he endured Anders' wrath– namely, Bragi talked him into running through town naked screaming about how he has trouble getting an erection.

And as much as he hated it, his sex life dramatically decreased to the point of barely any activity at all. Mitchell thought he mourned this more than the fact that he was about to die. Nevertheless, that didn't stop him from receiving Mitchell's affections – he just lamented that he couldn't reciprocate.

The day it hit him, _really hit him_ – for he knew he was going to die, he just didn't fully and completely understand, until he shuffled out of the guest room and into Ty's kitchen and all three of his brothers and Olaf were gathered in there, and when he walked in they all stopped talking and stared. They all had sad looks on their faces, and Anders knew that they were going to miss him, despite all their problems in the past. He walked over to them and was enveloped in a group hug that lasted for a while. It was Anders' goodbye to his family. The next day was _the_ day, and somehow he knew it.

* * *

At two am, a week and four days after they got to New Zealand Mitchell woke once again to Anders' coughing. Except this time he could barely breathe. Mitchell panicked when he realized he didn't know the emergency number in New Zealand, so he jumped up, telling Anders that he'd be right back. He ran down the hall and burst into Ty and Dawn's room. They both jerked awake.

"Mitchell, what-"

"It's Anders, he can't breathe." Ty quickly got up, suddenly very awake, and got dressed while Dawn grabbed her phone and called for an ambulance. Mitchell ran back to his and Anders' room, flipped on the lights and helped Anders sit up. Ty came in, and they sat on either side of Anders trying to encourage him to breathe slowly, and telling him that help was on the way. Dawn came in a moment later with a glass of water, but every time Anders tried to take a sip he coughed it up. He coughed so hard he gagged a few times, but he hadn't been able to eat dinner that night, so there was nothing to come up. Mitchell's already broken heart shattered even further, and his trench of misery opened ever wider at the sound of each and every cough. A mantra echoed them in his head, _your fault, your fault, your fault. . ._

Mitchell rode with Anders when the ambulance arrived, Ty and Dawn following. He sat next to him, Anders' hand clasped between his. The reality of it all was becoming overwhelming. Anders was awake, but sedated and intubated so he could breathe. Mitchell was having a hard time keeping it together. "It's going to be okay," he whispered fruitlessly over and over. Anders just stared into his eyes.

Two hours later Mitchell, Ty, and Dawn stood next to Anders' hospital bed as the doctor told them that because of the disease Anders was suffering from respiratory failure, and that there was nothing they could do. Mitchell found that his legs could no longer hold him and he sat heavily on the plastic chair next to the bed. Time seemed to slow, and the sound of Anders' heart monitor slowly beeping –_ still beating_ – cutting through his numb and empty mind.

"I'll leave you to say goodbye."

Ty called Mike, Olaf, and Axl, but Mitchell couldn't hear him. He could just blankly stared at Anders as he lay unconscious on the bed. _This is it_.

Dawn moved to the other side of the bed, tears flowing, and kissed Anders' cheek. Mitchell managed to stand shakily so he could give them some privacy. Mike, Olaf, and Axl all arrived shortly, and Mitchell moved just outside the room while they all said goodbye. He slid down to the floor, his knees pressed to his chest and his head in his hands.

After a while they came out and told Mitchell to take as much time as he needed. He stepped into the room and approached the bed. He sat down on the edge and stared down at the man he'd shared the last half-year of his life with. They hadn't actually known each other long, but Mitchell had grown utterly attached, and it felt like a hole was being ripped through his chest as reality crashed over him. He started crying again and he bent double so his forehead rested on Anders' shoulder.

"I'm going to miss you, you arsehole. I can't believe you're leaving me. . ." he whispered, and he sat up a little to press a kiss to Anders' temple.

Then all of the emotion that had built up inside him released and he let out a sob. He looked down and saw Anders' eyes opened slightly, looking up at him. He took several deep, shaky breaths, trying to get himself under control. Anders' eyes drooped and he knew he didn't have much more time.

"G- goodbye," he managed to choke out. Anders smiled slightly around the tube.

And then his eyes closed, and the heart monitor announced that he had gone.

The rest rushed in, and Ty wrapped his arms around Dawn to face her away from Anders' body. Mitchell found out why a moment later when a beautiful red light lifted up out of him. It floated up, lingered for a moment in the air above him, and then disappeared up into the ceiling.

"And so passes Bragi," Olaf said, his voice solemn.

* * *

The funeral was held three days later. Anders was cremated, but Mitchell didn't stay long enough to see the ashes scattered. It was too like a vampire's death – turning into ash and blowing away. He couldn't handle it.

He said goodbye to the Johnson family and returned to England. He got everything sorted with Anders' apartment – his apartment – and then he proceeded to get fantastically drunk.

He stayed that way for nearly a week.

Then, he passed out and slept for two days.

* * *

Mitchell woke at three in the afternoon on a Thursday. He got up and looked around, a heavy feeling in his gut weighing him down. There were little pieces of Anders everywhere, and Mitchell didn't know if he could handle it much longer.

He didn't do much that day, but when he couldn't stand being there any more he left. He went for a walk, not really knowing where he was going.

Before he knew it, it was dark out, and he was hungry. He walked down the sidewalk, looking for somewhere to eat.

He spotted a diner a block away and headed for it. When he got close he heard noises from the alley behind it. He frowned, it sounded like someone was being beat up – if the yelps and pounding sounds were anything to go by.

Without thinking he went around the building and saw a young werewolf being beaten by a couple of vampires. "Hey," he called, and they turned.

"Well, well, Mitchell. Nice to see you again," one of them, Tom, said.

"Get the fuck out of here," he growled, and his somewhat haggard appearance and the hatred he now felt for any of the vampires he knew had bed on Anders scared them, and they left without another word.

Mitchell looked down at the werewolf. He didn't know what made him want to save him – whether it was pity, or compassion. Maybe he saw something in the young man who looked like he couldn't hurt a fly, and was groaning on the ground for doing nothing. Mitchell knew those vampires, and he knew they'd attack a werewolf on sight simply for being a werewolf.

Maybe he knew he shouldn't be alone, and something put him in this man's path.

Whatever it was, Mitchell would come to be very happy he did it.

He took a few steps forward and crouched down next to him. "Are you okay?" He helped him up.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," he said. His voice was fairly high-pitched and still shaky.

"John Mitchell," he said, taking the man's hand when they were both standing.

"George Sands."

* * *

Epilogue

Mitchell woke gasping. At first he couldn't see or hear. He could feel the cold, hard ground beneath him, slowly his ears stopped buzzing with silence and he could hear little noises here and there.

His eyes were open, and slowly his vision started to come back, blurry at first, but then everything was clear, sharp, and in focus.

He sat up. He was in a hallway. It was plain and there were solid wood doors lining it. It went on for a while and then it turned. There was a sense of peace and calm that pervaded the air. Mitchell stood and started walking slowly down the hall. _Is this where vampires go when they die?_

Faintly he heard voices ahead. He sped up slightly, and when he turned the corner he was suddenly in a garden.

"Mitchell, it's about time!" Mitchell whirled around. That was a voice he hadn't heard in a long time. Anders stood behind him, healthy and as impeccably well dressed as ever.

"Anders. . ."

"Come on, I've been talking to your mum- she told me some stories about you. . ."

FIN

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Just a note, it's not purgatory that Mitchell and Anders went to in the end, it's some kind of paradise or afterlife that is neither heaven, hell, or purgatory. **


End file.
